Friendly Fire
by PenNoire
Summary: Alex never intended to work for MI6 again but when an old acquaintance calls in a favour he just can't say no, even though this mission will be his most uncomfortable and embarassing yet. Set after Crocodile Tears.
1. One Last Time

_**Friendly Fire**_

**Disclaimer**: Alex Rider belongs to Anthony Horowitz

**Warnings**: AU following Crocodile Tears, some strong language

**Rating**: T

* * *

**Chapter 1. One Last Time**

Alex pulled on the pair of latex gloves waiting for him and picked up the scalpel, the sharp blade glinting in the afternoon sunlight that filtered through the window blinds. He carefully rolled it in his hand until it settled in a comfortable position and tightened his grip. He took a steadying breath and put pressure behind the scalpel, feeling a heady sense of power as the sharp blade cut smoothly and almost effortlessly through the tissue.

Muffled swearing from next to him broke his concentration and he glanced upwards. Tom was working at the bench next to his and somehow, in the thirty seconds since they'd been given the go ahead to start, he'd already managed to completely mangle his heart and was now poking the bloody mess forlornly. Alex shook his head in amusement and returned his attention to the pig's heart sat on his own bench. He finished the incision and carefully spread the heart open, pressing it as flat as he could. He peeled off his right glove and grabbed his pencil, starting the sketch the organ in front of him.

"Very neat blade work, Alex" Miss Wilkins commented as she passed, favouring him a small smile. Alex smiled back; the young Biology teacher was a new starter this year and so had never experienced (and subsequently had to listen to the subpar excuse for) one of Alex's lengthy absences. As such, she treated him exactly the same as she treated everyone else. It was a welcome and refreshing change for the teenage spy.

He paused halfway through drawing the tricuspid valve. Teenage spy? Did that title really apply to him anymore? It was the last day of September, more than seven months since he'd returned from Africa, and during that time he'd heard absolutely nothing from MI6. He knew that Jack had spoken to Mrs Jones whilst he was in hospital and demanded that he not be sent out on any more missions, but he hadn't really expected them to listen to his American guardian. Not that he was complaining; it felt damned good to be a normal teenager with worries no more important than turning homework in on time and acquiring a heart to dissect in Biology class. Still, he would have appreciated confirmation, either verbal or written, that his spying days were well and truly over. He pushed his hair out of eyes – he'd been growing it longer recently, as the just-rolled-out-of-bed messy look was right on trend – and turned his attention back to his sketch.

"Alex?" Tom said, snapping Alex out of his daydream, "Can I share your heart?"

Alex snorted at the question – in any other context it would have been completely ridiculous – but obligingly shifted his stool and workbook, making room at the end of his bench. Tom cast a quick glance over his shoulder, checking that Miss Wilkins was occupied with someone else before lobbing a piece of his mutilated heart in the direction of the group of girls at the front. He quickly sat down and lowered his head as they shrieked, one of them clawing frantically at her hair. Alex hid his chuckles at his best friend's antics. Yes, normal teenager suited him just fine, and if MI6 ever tried to poke their noses into his life again he would take great pleasure in kicking them straight back out.

* * *

The end of the school day couldn't come quickly enough for Alex. Biology had been followed by double English and whilst Alex enjoyed reading for leisure, he couldn't stand going through hundred-year old texts in minute detail and picking them apart. Honestly, what was the point of comparing metaphor and simile use by Hardy and Brontë? He and Tom had spent the majority of the lesson playing hangman, which at least had the bonus of expanding Alex's vocabulary. He didn't even want to know how (or, in fact, why) Tom knew about prostatitis and trichomoniasis.

Alex let out a sigh of relief as the bell finally rang and the teacher gave them permission to leave. He loosened his tie and grabbed his books, following Tom out of the classroom and fighting his way up the corridor, cursing the fact that the year eleven lockers were right at the other end of the school. James was already there when they arrived, leaning casually against the wall with his bulging bag slung over his shoulder. He straightened and grinned when he saw them approaching.

"You took your time," he commented, pulling a football out of his bag and twirling it on the tip of his index finger.

"English last," Tom said by way of explanation as he darted forward, trying to knock the ball off James' finger. Alex shook his head at his friends' immature behaviour and quickly unlocked his locker, grabbing the textbooks he would need for that day's homework and tossing them unceremoniously into his rucksack. The three of them had made plans to meet up with James' older brother and some of his friends for a kick-about at the park and at this rate they were going to be late. Tom finally succeeded in knocking the ball off James' finger, an action which earned him a curse and a fist to the gut.

"You were asking for it," Alex said in response to Tom's wounded expression.

Five minutes later they were heading out of the main school doors, the conversation having settled upon the upcoming Chelsea-Liverpool match.

"I hate to say it but I reckon it'll be Liverpool," Tom said, "We've only won one so far, it's pathetic."

"Yeah, but Liverpool have only won two and they've had the easier draw," James countered, "Don't you think, Alex?"

Alex was just about to answer when he saw it.

Parked on the opposite side of the road to the school was an inconspicuous black car, not dissimilar from the numerous others that clogged up the street as parents and taxis battled against each other to pick up the various teenagers waiting for them at the school gates. Stood on the pavement behind the car was a woman who also blended seamlessly into the environment; dressed in a sharp grey skirt suit and with her dark hair pulled back into a simple yet professional bun, she appeared to be no different to any of the other parents who had come to collect their offspring straight from the office. A closer look, though, would reveal that her eyes scanned not only the dense crowd of schoolchildren but also the surrounding area, including odd places such as the school rooftop and the windows in the apartment block at the end of the street. She checked her watch more frequently than any of the others stood around her and almost constantly brushed her left arm against her side, as if reassuring herself that she hadn't lost whatever was in her inside jacket pocket. These were not things an average person would pick up on, but Alex was not average, and he noticed. More than that, though, he immediately recognised the woman.

MI6 had come for him.

Alex didn't even realise he'd frozen until Tom walked straight into his back and swore. "Ow, damn it! What are you…" He trailed off, poking Alex in the ribs when he didn't respond. "Alex? What's wrong?"

James had continued walking, talking away to himself, and nobody else was paying any attention to the two boys. Nevertheless, Alex wasn't about to talk about _that _part of his life in the middle of the rec (nobody called it the recreational area except the teachers) so he settled on meeting Tom's eyes before deliberately turning to stare at the car for a few seconds. Tom frowned but played along, scanning the road until he saw the sedan parked opposite. It took a few seconds for him to put it together but Alex could tell the instant he figured it out; Tom swallowed and his cheeks paled slightly.

"It's them, isn't it," he said, more a statement than a question, "I thought you were finished with all that?"

Alex sighed. "I thought I was, too." The beginnings of an MI6-related headache were already beginning to form and he closed his eyes in frustration as he rubbed his temples absently. Why couldn't they just leave him alone? He'd been able to catch up with the rest of his year group in terms of schoolwork but this was his GCSE year! His admittance to a good sixth form college, and subsequently to a good university, would depend largely on the grades he managed to get in the final exams next May – he really couldn't afford to take off for a few weeks and fall behind now. It wasn't just his schoolwork at stake here; it was the rest of his life.

He swallowed a groan and opened his eyes, only to see the woman staring straight at him. Their gazes locked, her nearly black eyes boring into his light brown ones, and for several long moments neither of them blinked. Then, never taking her eyes off his, she slipped gracefully into the back seat of the car and disappeared from view.

"Alex? Tom? Everything alright?"

Alex blinked and dragged his attention from the car to James, who was hovering in front of them with the football balanced on two fingers. He neatly flipped it to his other hand and held it up. "You guys coming or what?"

Tom was quiet and Alex knew his friend was waiting for him to decide the matter. He wanted to punch something in frustration. A very large part of him was tempted to flick the car and what it represented the finger and head to the park to play football with the others, to put this incident entirely out of his mind and get on with his own life. However, that tiny treacherous part of him that had always gotten him into trouble in the past was fighting to be heard, screaming out that _she _would never have come personally to his school, in plain view of everyone else, to bring him in if the situation wasn't desperate. He sighed, already regretting what he was about to do, and turned to James.

"Sorry, I just remembered that I promised to help Jack at home. We're redecorating the spare room," he said, coming up with the lie on the spot. He really was better at that than any fifteen year old should be.

"Bummer," James groaned, "The teams will be uneven now. Guess we'll just have to have a sub. See you tomorrow?"

Alex nodded and James shot him a grin before jogging off, shouting at Tom to get a shift on when he didn't instantly follow.

Tom bit his lip. "Be careful, yeah? And whatever they want you to do, say no."

Alex shot Tom a rueful smile. "I'll try."

They parted at the school gate, Tom quickly catching up with James and heading off down the road. Alex waited until they'd turned the corner before he darted across the road (earning himself the blare of a horn from one speeding driver) and let himself into the car. He pulled off his school tie and took a deep, steadying breath before he turned to look at the woman sat calmly next to him on the back seat.

"Mrs Jones," he greeted her.

"Alex. Good to see you," she replied.

Alex snorted. "Wish I could say the same."

The engine purred to life as the chauffeur steered the car away from the pavement into the steady stream of traffic. Out of habit Alex pulled out and fastened his seatbelt, leaning back to prop his head against the headrest that was set at just the right height.

"Before we go any further, I should let you know that I'm not interested," he stated, trying to sound casual. Mrs Jones raised a single eyebrow.

"Relax, Alex. We're not going to force you into anything." She ignored his disbelieving snort. "We do have a proposition for you, though."

"Surprise, surprise," Alex mumbled.

She ignored him. "Alan will explain everything at the bank." She paused slightly, then sighed. "Off the record, Alex, we wouldn't be coming to you if we had any other choice. We never have done. I hope you know that."

She lapsed into silence and shifted slightly to stare out of the window. Alex took the opportunity to study her more closely. Her hair was definitely longer than it had been the last time he had seen her; the majority of it was swept back into a neat bun whilst a few loose tendrils framed her face, making her look less imposing somehow. She looked slimmer than Alex had ever seen her, and for a brief moment he wondered if she had been unwell. That notion was forgotten when he saw something that made his eyes widen and his mouth drop open; a single diamond set in a plain gold band adorned the ring finger on her left hand. He certainly hadn't expected that.

The rest of the journey was spent in silence. As always Alex was bursting with questions but he knew that it would be impossible to get any more information out of Mrs Jones if she had decided to wait, so asking was a pointless exercise. Instead, he tried to imagine what her fiancée must be like. He'd be intelligent, definitely. Minimalistic – Alex imagined she wouldn't put up with unnecessary clutter. He'd probably have to have the patience of a saint, too.

In seemingly no time at all they came to a stop in front of the familiar building. Alex unfastened his seatbelt and slid out of the car, walking round the boot to stand next to Mrs Jones on the pavement.

"Joseph," she said.

"Pardon?" he asked, assuming she was talking to the driver before realising he'd stayed in the car.

She twitched her left hand slightly. "His name's Joseph," she said, "I saw you looking."

Alex was startled. Had he been that obvious? If so, he was seriously out of practice. He fell into step beside her as she strode into the 'bank'.

"I'll warn you, Alex, that you probably won't like what we're about to ask you to do," she murmured, so softly he had to strain to hear, "But please, don't dismiss the idea without proper consideration. I spent a long time butting heads with Alan before he agreed to offer you what he will."

Alex liked this less and less every second. She'd never felt the need to warn him before outlining a mission before and he wondered just what on earth they wanted him to do. Something terrible, by the sound of it. They entered the lift and without being prompted the doors slid shut and they moved smoothly upwards.

"If you know I won't want to do it," he said, "Why bother dragging me here? Why not get someone else who actually gets _paid_ to do it?"

She pursed her lips. "As I said in the car, we don't have any other choice for this one. We need someone your age, plus you must have realised by now that you're one of the best we have. In addition, I think you'll like what we have to offer you in return."

Alex scowled. "A bribe, you mean."

The corner of her mouth pulled up slightly, the closest to a smile he'd ever seen her make. "I prefer to think of it as an incentive."

"Of course you do."

Nothing more was said and mere minutes later Alex was once again seated opposite the head of MI6. Unlike Mrs Jones, Alan Blunt hadn't changed one iota since Alex had last seen him; he was as grey and unmoving as ever, a veritable statue save for the faint rise and fall of his chest as he breathed. Mrs Jones took a seat a little behind and to the left of him, and he waited until she had settled herself before he cleared his throat softly and steepled his fingers.

"Good afternoon, Alex, and welcome back. I trust you are well?"

Alex kept his face impassive. "I'd be better if I wasn't here. Don't give me any crap, just tell me what you want."

Blunt's expression didn't change. "Impatient? Very well." He pressed a button on the intercom on his desk. "Monica? Please send our guest in."

Alex twisted in his seat just in time to see the office door open to admit a muscular man wearing army fatigues and a sand-coloured beret. Alex's eyes widened in recognition. It was more than eighteen months since he'd seen the other man, but the sergeant from his time spent in Wales was a hard man to forget.

The sergeant snapped a hand to the side of his head in a sharp salute. "Sir, ma'am." He dropped the salute and gave Alex a polite nod. "Cub."

Despite his training being so long ago, habit had Alex getting to his feet and throwing the sergeant a crisp salute of his own. "Sir."

"Lieutenant Briggs, thank you for joining us. Please, have a seat," Blunt said, indicating the seat next to Alex's.

"Lieutenant?" Alex blurted out, surprised. From his limited knowledge of the army, that was a promotion of several ranks in a relatively short space of time. "Congratulations, sir," he added as he took his seat again.

Briggs shot him a strained smile as he sat down and pulled off his beret. "Thank you, Cub." He shared a look with Blunt, the pair of them apparently deciding silently who was going to be the one to explain why both he and Alex were there. Alex was filled with trepidation. Was this next mission so dangerous he needed extra training? He hoped not; once being belittled, bullied and ridiculed by the SAS trainees was enough to last him the rest of his lifetime.

Briggs broke the silence by coughing slightly and lowering his eyes to his lap. He fiddled with the edge of his beret, and if Alex didn't know better he'd say the man was nervous.

"My daughter's missing," Briggs said without preamble, "My wife and I haven't heard from her in two weeks."

He took a deep, shuddering breath and Alex could tell that he was fighting to hold it together. Mrs Jones discreetly pushed the box of tissues across the desk.

"She's just turned twenty, in her second year at university. She just vanished without a trace."

He pulled out a wad of tissues and blew his nose. Alex wasn't sure what to say, or even if he was supposed to say anything at all. He felt uneasy – he felt like he should be offering comfort given that Briggs was obviously upset, but he wasn't close to the man by any means and he didn't want to say anything that could make the situation worse. Blunt and Mrs Jones had obviously heard all this before or Alex himself wouldn't be here, and that meant that this explanation was only for his benefit.

"I'm sorry," was what Alex settled on.

Briggs shot him a weak smile. "Thank you, Cub." He poured himself a glass of water from the jug on the desk and took a sip. "I got the news from my wife whilst I was on a training exercise with some new recruits. I informed the corporal that I would have to leave and went to sort everything out at the welfare office. Whilst there I noticed something that struck me as odd. In the past 12 months, more than a dozen servicemen and women had applied for compassionate leave – which is usually granted in cases of family illness or bereavement – referencing a missing family member. I brought up the files and, in every case, the family member in question was a daughter."

He took another sip of water, the glass shaking slightly. Mrs Jones cleared her throat and took over.

"Lieutenant Briggs brought the matter to our attention last week and we did some digging. In the last four years more than seventy armed forces children – all female, between the ages of eighteen and twenty-two and at university – have been reported missing."

Alex was starting to realise where they were heading with this. "They were all at one university? You want me to go in and see what I can find?"

"I think you misunderstood, Alex," said Blunt, "Between them the girls were attending forty-seven UK universities, which is why no correlation in their disappearances was picked up before. However, when we looked further back we noticed something startling. All the missing girls attended one of six private high schools. It is one of these schools we would like you to investigate."

Alex took a deep breath and leaned back in his seat. As far as missions went, this didn't sound too complicated compared to what he'd faced in the past. Then again, Point Blanc was only supposed to be a simple reconnaissance mission and he'd gone there based on Blunt's hunch, not harsh facts like he was being presented with now. There was definitely something sinister going on here, and part of him really did want to help. On the other hand, he'd promised Jack, Tom and himself that he was done with this; he'd done more than enough for his country over the past year and a half, and unless he wanted to carry on being exploited he had to put his foot down at some point.

"Alex?"

He looked up, startled by Briggs' use of his first name.

"I understand why you don't want to get involved. I've been allowed to read your file. I have a son a year older than you, and the thought of him going through even half of what you have sickens me." He shot Blunt and Mrs Jones a deadly glare. "As an officer in the British army, I would tell you to go back to school, stay the hell away and leave this to the adults. As a father to one of the... the _victims_..." he took a shaky breath and wiped his eyes with a fresh tissue. "As a father, I'm begging you to help. I..." He trailed off, rubbing his face roughly with his hand.

"We have agents who could pass as university age, if the issue had lain there," Mrs Jones said, "But as this involves a high school... We really do have no one else."

"We've been in touch with the head of the British armed forces," Blunt put in, "And after convincing them that we weren't joking about having a fifteen year old agent, they've offered to fund you through a university of your choice if you decide to take the mission. You'll also have the option of a fast track career into the military, should you want it."

"I'm sorry if it feels like we're pressuring you," Briggs said softly, "But if you ever have children one day, you'll understand." He turned to Blunt and Mrs Jones. "Is there anything else you need from me?"

They shook their heads in the negative, and Briggs rose to his feet. "It's been good to see you again, Cub."

Alex rose too, shaking the other man's hand. "You too, sir. I just wish it were in better circumstances."

Briggs smiled sadly. "Me too, Cub. Sir, ma'am." He nodded courteously before pulling on his beret and leaving the room, the door swinging shut behind him. Alex let out a large breath and flopped back into his seat, his head hurting. He wished Lieutenant Briggs hadn't come personally; he'd probably have been able to stand up to Blunt and Mrs Jones quite easily, but seeing his old officer had thrown a spanner in the works. It made the mission personal, and a personal mission would be harder to turn down than an exceedingly dangerous one in the Amazon rainforest or the middle of Scorpia's headquarters.

"The offer from the military is generous," Mrs Jones said, "And we would add to it. You'll be sixteen next year, legally and physically an adult, and we will no longer require your... unique skills and services. As such, upon completion of this mission we will officially sever your ties with us and compensate you for all the work you have undertaken so far. You will also be granted a full redundancy bonus, healthcare scheme and pension."

She slid a piece of paper to him across the desk and he picked it up, jaw dropping when he saw the underlined figure at the bottom. He would be set for life.

"Never believe that we aren't grateful for what you've done for us, Alex," she continued, "We're just asking for your help one last time."

He tore his eyes off the paper to look at them. "And if I decide to refuse?"

Blunt's mouth thinned. "You'll still be paid for your work up until now, but the other extras wouldn't be included."

Alex reluctantly folded the piece of paper into quarters to hide the numbers. As much as he would like to, he couldn't make this decision based solely on the financial gains

"Why did he bring this to you? Why not go the police?"

Blunt and Mrs Jones shared a look. "If we were discussing the disappearance of doctors' or lawyers' children, this would be a matter for the police," Blunt confirmed, "However, the fact that the disappearances are of young women from military families requires us to tread more carefully. A significant percentage of the missing women have a parent ranked at Major or higher, and servicemen and women from all branches of the armed forces are involved."

The wheels were definitely turning in Alex's head. "You think they're kidnapping the children of officers to gain control over the armed forces."

Blunt nodded. "If faced with a situation where one's own child is in danger, it is logical to assume that any parent would do whatever it took to ensure the safety of their child. When those parents hold senior positions in the armed forces, the situation becomes very dangerous. As you say, the forces could very well fall under the control of whichever group is organising this scheme in order to protect the young women involved. The forces in the UK are some of the best equipped and well trained in the world. It is not a situation we want to find ourselves in."

Alex bit his lip and picked a fingernail absently. "Why have they only targeted girls?" he asked, "Surely if they want hostages then sons would be just as useful to them as daughters."

"Perhaps," agreed Mrs Jones, "But whoever is behind this is smart; the women are being abducted from university, yet it is obvious that the victims are being identified and tracked from their early teens. As such, it has taken four years for anyone to realise these disappearances are connected."

"And your point?" Alex prompted.

"My point is that this is clearly a highly structured and well developed organisation, and in our experience the majority of such organisations are founded and run by men. Think back over your own missions; with the exception of Julia Rothman all the people you've investigated for us were male." Her hand tightened on the arm of her chair as a look of hatred and disgust passed briefly over her face. "I'm sure I don't need to educate you on how holding women captive rather than men could be more… _satisfying_ for them."

Alex felt his insides twist in revulsion. To him, rape was a heinous crime on a par with murder; he couldn't even begin to imagine how people managed to carry on and rebuild their lives after such a violation. How Lieutenant Briggs had managed to hold it together wondering if his daughter was going through that, Alex didn't know. He set his jaw.

"Do you have the brief ready for me?"

Blunt immediately opened the top drawer of his desk and extracted a thin file with 'CONFIDENTIAL' printed across the top in red letters. He set it on the desk, but didn't pass it across to Alex.

"Before you accept, you should be aware that we'll require you to go deep undercover for this mission." He pulled out a colour photograph from the drawer, and this he slid across the table to Alex with a single finger.

"Of course," Alex acknowledged, accepting the photograph and rotating it. It was a headshot of a girl about his age, her head turned to the side as if talking to someone next to her. Long blonde hair was swept sideways across her forehead before tumbling down in gentle waves over her shoulders. She was smiling, possibly at a joke her invisible friend had just told, and her eyes sparkled underneath long, dark lashes. She wasn't classically pretty – her nose was a little too large, her jaw too square – but she was striking.

"Your cover," Blunt said, waving a hand towards the photograph.

"My cover? A forces' kid? You want me to get close to her, pose as her boyfriend?"

The corner of Blunt's mouth actually quirked upwards. If Alex didn't know any better, he'd say the head of MI6 was amused.

"That's not exactly what we had in mind," Blunt said, withdrawing another photo and pushing it face down across the table. Alex flipped it over, only to frown in confusion. It was a photo of himself, fairly recent if the length of his hair was any indication. It appeared to have been taken as he was leaving school; the photo only showed his head, but he could see the collar of his shirt around his neck. He was looking off to the side, presumably at Tom, the smile on his face indicating his friend had just done something highly amusing.

Wait a second.

His mouth dropped in horror as he realised exactly what he was looking at and he dropped the photo, recoiling in shock and disbelief.

"Absolutely not. No fucking way!"

"Alex! Language!" admonished Mrs Jones.

"To hell with my language! I'm not doing it. In case you hadn't noticed, I'm a _boy_."

Alex's outrage stemmed from the fact that he had finally recognised the girl from the first photo – it was him. The image had been edited, of course; his hair had been altered, makeup round the eyes made them appear larger and stand out more, and his complexion looked smoother. However, there was no denying that the face was his. The cheekbones, the nose, the jaw... all were identical to the second photo that Blunt had passed him. They didn't want him to infiltrate and investigate the school as a boy; they wanted to send him in as a girl.

"It's merely a disguise, Alex," Mrs Jones said, obviously trying to placate him, "You've been on missions in complex disguises before. Surely you haven't forgotten Bangkok?"

"Of course I haven't," Alex spat, "But changing the colour of my skin is a bit different to changing my gender!"

"Nothing will be permanent," Blunt stated.

"I should bloody well hope not!"

"I can assure you," Blunt added, "That we've dealt with situations in the past which required a male agent to go undercover as a female and vice versa. All of them were able to pass scrutiny without question; complex yet non-surgical body modification happens to be somewhat of a... _speciality_ of Mr Smithers'. Your case should be relatively straightforward given your age..."

"Why?" Alex interjected, "Why can't I go in as myself?"

"They're targeting girls, Alex. Whoever is watching and monitoring these girls, whether it's a teacher or someone on the outside, is obviously skilled enough to remain undetected and not arouse suspicion for years. If we send you in as a boy, or indeed send in another agent as a teacher or cleaner, we aren't confident that the culprit will be sloppy enough to leave anything to find. Sending you in as someone who fits their target criteria, however, may draw them out of hiding long enough for us to identify and detain them."

Alex ran his hand through his hair in distress. "It just wouldn't work. Please tell me this is some sick joke. You can't be serious."

"We're deadly serious, Alex," Blunt said, his voice low, "And for reasons you've now fully heard, you are the only one who could take on this mission."

"I know nothing about being a girl! I wouldn't fool anyone!"

"We'd give you coaching, of course," put in Mrs Jones, "Even your classmates wouldn't recognise you once we'd finished."

Alex shook his head. He couldn't do this. He'd given them more than enough over the past year and a half, and it was time to finally put his foot down. '_Whatever they want you to do, say no'_ Tom had said to him only about an hour previously, and this new indignity was just the push he needed to gain the courage to do so. He folded his hands in his lap, digging his nails into the opposite palms.

"I'm sorry, but no," he said softly, "This is one step too far. I won't do it; I _can't_ do it. I've had enough. I'm sorry."

He unclenched his fists and tore the paper with his compensation details in half, and then in half again. He placed the pieces on top of the photos and pushed the whole lot back across the desk. Mrs Jones sighed deeply.

"I told you we wouldn't force you, and we won't," she said, her voice almost a whisper, "But that doesn't mean we're not disappointed." She tipped the scraps of paper onto the desk and slid the pair of photos back towards him. "I know this has come as a shock to you, but we wouldn't even be asking you if we didn't believe you could do this. Please, at least sleep on it. If you come to the decision that you really can't face this, we won't press any further. We'll contact the armed forces and let them know that we'll send in another agent, but that we're not confident of success. If you change your mind..." She withdrew a slender mobile phone from her inside jacket pocket and placed it on top of the photos. "Let us know. Speed dial one."

Alex glanced from one to the other to see if either had everything else to say, but it appeared that the meeting was over. He nodded politely to both as he stood up, grabbing the mobile phone and slipping it into the inside pocket of his blazer. He paused, torn, before also taking the photos. He left without a backwards glance.

* * *

Alex and Jack ate dinner that evening in near silence. She'd dropped a mug in shock and pulled him into a tight hug when the car had dropped him off, and he'd realised that she hadn't expected him to come home; in the past, he'd always left straight away without having the chance to say goodbye. He'd also got a phone call from Tom, who sounded just as overjoyed as Jack that he had 'finally grown a pair and stuck up for yourself'. Nevertheless, Alex was in a foul mood. How dare MI6 ask him to do something that degrading, that humiliating? Surely they couldn't have expected him to actually agree to such a preposterous idea?

He couldn't get the image of that first photograph out of his mind. There had to have been some serious special effects editing going on there; it had looked nothing like him. Hell, he hadn't even recognised himself until he'd seen the second photo in which he was shown in the exact same position! But even if they could make his face look like that, there was still the small issue of the rest of his body being very definitely masculine. He had grown a lot in the past year and his shoulders had broadened, although admittedly not to the same extent as some of the other boys in his year. His hips were narrow, and just how had they been planning on obscuring the fact that he had very unfeminine equipment _down there_? It just didn't make any sense.

"Alex? Are you sure you're okay?"

Alex snapped out of his thoughts and glanced across the table, bemused by Jack's worried expression. Then he realised that he'd been pounding his fish to pieces and it now resembled a white mush on his plate. He put his fork down and sighed heavily.

"I'm fine, Jack, just... not that hungry. Got a lot on my mind, you know?"

Jack nodded sympathetically. "I know it must have been hard to turn them down, Alex, but you did the right thing."

"I guess."

She smiled reassuringly and took her plate through to the kitchen to clean up. Alex picked up his fork again, only to realise that the mess on his plate was distinctly unappetising. He pushed it around the plate for a few minutes before giving up the pretence and joining Jack in the kitchen to clean up, the proposal he had turned down still on his mind. No matter which was he looked at it, it was a stupid idea. There was no way he would be able to pull it off. Not in a million years.

* * *

Alex groaned, rubbing his eyes with a fist and rolling over to look at the digital clock on his bedside table. 02:37 stared back at him in fluorescent green numbers. He sighed and flopped back onto his pillow. He'd gone to bed early in an attempt to escape the overwhelming thoughts that had been crowding his head ever since his meeting with Blunt and Mrs Jones, but it was now four hours later and still sleep evaded him.

He wasn't entirely sure why he was so hung up over the matter. What they were asking him to do was entirely unreasonable, and he was sure that any other teenage boy in his position would have turned them down just as fast as he had. Maybe it was the fact that they had brought Lieutenant Briggs in to explain the matter. Alex was sure that either Blunt or Mrs Jones would have been more than capable of briefing him, so why had Briggs been necessary? Try as he might, Alex couldn't get the tortured look on the other man's face out of his mind. He'd seemed lost, broken – the complete opposite of the man Alex had first met in the Brecon Beacons. Understandable, of course; his daughter was missing.

Alex squeezed his eyes shut. Was Briggs lying awake now, just as Alex was, wondering what had happened to his daughter? He had mentioned a son just a little older than Alex; was he unable to sleep, thinking of his sister? Guilt had been creeping up on Alex all evening but now it washed over him like a tidal wave. People were missing, potentially being abused, and he had refused to help because of embarrassment over having to wear a skirt? Really, what importance was his pride compared to those poor girls' lives?

He reached out and switched on his bedside lamp, screwing his eyes shut against the sudden brightness. After he had given them time to adjust he swung himself out of bed and walked over to his desk, on which were sat the two photographs that had started all this. He sat down and pulled them closer. Could they really do what Blunt claimed they could? According to him, other men had successfully carried the charade before, so unless he was lying in order to ensure Alex's cooperation (not impossible, of course) then it must be possible. So why was he dead set against it? He'd asked to see the mission brief and had been ready to go out and get started until they'd shown him the photos. Was an extreme undercover makeover really a valid reason to decline the mission and abandon those girls to their fate?

He put his elbows on the desk and placed his head in his hands. He had the answer; he'd had it ever since he left the meeting. Why else would he be feeling guilty? He took the phone out of his blazer pocket and reclined back on his bed, closing his eyes in resignation as he pressed the keys and raised the phone to his ear. Mrs Jones answered on the first ring, as if she had been waiting up all night anticipating his call.

"Alex?"

"I'll do it."

"Excellent. I'll have someone pick you up after school tomorrow with the brief and you can read it on the way to your first training session."

"Training session?"

"Walking in heels, applying makeup, adjusting your voice..."

_Oh hell. _"Right, girl stuff. Well, night."

"Good night, Alex," she replied, "And thank you."

He hung up and dropped the phone onto his bedside table. The prospect of tomorrow's 'training session' filled him with dread, and he wondered how on earth he was going to explain to Tom and Jack that he'd changed his mind. Nevertheless, it felt like a great weight had been lifted off his chest and in no time at all he drifted off to sleep.


	2. A Different Sort Of Training

_**Friendly Fire**_

**Disclaimer**: Alex Rider belongs to Anthony Horowitz

**Warnings**: AU following Crocodile Tears, some strong language

**Rating**: T

* * *

**Chapter 2. A Different Sort Of Training**

"You did _what_?" Jack shrieked the following morning as she dropped her mug on the kitchen floor, sending coffee everywhere. Alex sighed and knelt to pick up the pieces; they were going to run out of mugs if she kept this up.

"I told them I'd do it," he repeated as he dropped the shards in the bin.

"I heard what you said," she snapped, "But what I don't understand is why! You turned them down yesterday; you finally took back control of your own life, only to give it straight back to them! Why didn't you just walk away?"

"Because I couldn't," Alex replied wearily, "I can't tell you the mission details, of course, but I can assure you that I wouldn't be able to live with myself if I do nothing this time."

Jack ran a hand over her face in misery. "When are you going to learn that the rest of the world isn't your responsibility?" she asked, "When will you realise that it doesn't have to be you rushing to the rescue every time?"

"This is the last time, Jack," Alex reassured her, "I'm getting too old to be useful as it is; I mean, I'm nearly at the age when they could use an actual agent who signed up for the job in the first place. This is the last mission I'll ever take. I promise."

Despite his assurances, Jack spent the rest of the morning in a foul mood and Alex was relieved to finally escape the house and head to school. Unfortunately, things didn't get any easier for him there.

"You did _what_?" Tom yelled in the middle of the corridor, drawing curious looks from the other students. "Are you absolutely out of your frigging mind? Why the hell did you do that?"

Alex clapped his hand over Tom's mouth. "That little thing I just told you is called a _secret_, Tom, and in case you didn't know, when someone tells you a secret it means you have to exercise something called _discretion_ and not shout the secret out to everyone in the entire building!" He took a deep breath to calm himself and took his hand away. "I said I'd do it. I can't go into details, but as I said to Jack, I think I'd regret it forever if I don't at least try."

"But what about your GCSEs?" Tom pressed, "You do realise that if you muck these up it will screw up your entire life?"

"I'm not too worried about that," Alex said, smiling slightly, "I honestly can't say any more than this, but it's a posh private school I'm being sent to investigate. No doubt the teachers there won't let me fall behind."

Tom let out a sigh of relief. "Well, that sounds okay. I mean, it doesn't sound too dangerous; it's not as if many international terrorist mafia people that want to kill you set up camp in a school, is it?"

Alex prudently decided that now was not the best time to give Tom the full story of Point Blanc.

Tom was in a substantially better mood for the rest of the day, but Alex could still tell that his friend wasn't entirely happy. He had to admit that if their situations were reversed he wouldn't want Tom going through any of this either. At the end of the day, though, it was Alex's decision to make and he was confident he'd made the right one. Despite his self assurance, his confidence started to evaporate slightly as he exited the school with Tom and James after lessons were over only to see the same black car as the previous day waiting for him. Girl training. Just what every boy wants to liven up his day.

"Crap, I've forgotten 'The Crucible," moaned James as he rifled through his bag, "Just wait a sec and I'll be right back."

He turned tail and jogged back into the building, leaving Alex and Tom alone for the first time since Alex had filled Tom in that morning. Tom shuffled awkwardly from foot to foot.

"So, when do you leave?"

Alex shrugged. "Not sure, I'll be going through the brief on the way to my training session."

"Training session?" Tom queried.

"You know, to brush up my skills," Alex muttered, hoping Tom wouldn't force the matter any further.

"Oh, right. To make sure you're up to scratch with your karate and other kung fu. Top tip – don't store a gun in your pocket. Jerry knew someone who had a brother in a gang who did that, and one day he forgot to put the safety on and accidentally blew his bollocks off."

Alex winced at the mental image. "Right, thanks for that." He waved a hand at the car across the street. "I really should be going."

"Right, yeah, cool," Tom said, shoulders slumping in dejection, "And Alex? If I don't see you again before you leave, good luck and look after yourself."

"Thanks, I'll try," Alex replied as he headed off towards the car, touched by his friend's sentiments. He got halfway there before Tom shouted after him, "And remember what I said about looking after your bollocks!"

* * *

Alex was still bright red as he fastened his seatbelt and opened the mission brief that had been waiting for him on the back seat of the car. It was quite thin and he instantly skipped over the background information on the mission having heard it all the previous day. He stopped at a page entitled 'Alias'; a copy of the first photo he had been provided with yesterday was stapled to the top. In addition, two extra photos were attached to the bottom of the page; one was a headshot of Ben Daniels, although his face was slightly more worn than Alex remembered and his hair was spattered with grey, and the other was of a red-headed woman he didn't know. Other than that, the information on the page was sparse.

_Alias_

_Name: Andrea ('Andy') Marie Daniels_

_DOB: 01/04/1987_

_Gender: Female_

_Father: Benjamin Craig Daniels _

_DOB: 15/09/1968_

_Occupation: Special Air Service, Rank – Sergeant_

_Mother: Claire Elizabeth Daniels (née Farmer)_

_DOB: 06/02/1969 _

_Deceased: 04/09/2002 _

Alex rubbed a hand over his face as he read through the short snippets of information for a second time. The situation suddenly seemed far more real than it had before. Andrea. That was his name for the foreseeable future. He supposed it could be worse – as was stated in the brackets beside the name, he could always ask people to shorten it to Andy, which he would feel much more comfortable with. He wondered if whoever had written the brief knew about his involvement; the choice of name and the fact that his birthday was specified as April Fools' Day seemed to suggest so.

Ben's participation confused Alex. According to the brief Ben was taking on the mission as himself rather than acting under an alias, which Alex knew wasn't standard protocol. He ignored the fact that Ben was, in reality, far too young to be Alex's father; if they could make Alex pass as a member of the opposite gender, aging Ben a dozen years should be a breeze. Alex supposed that Ben's past military connections might make things more straightforward in terms of obtaining the required documentation, but at the same time if anyone dug around deep enough there would be plenty of witnesses who had known Ben in the army who would instantly be able to give away the fact that Ben was not thirty four, had never been married and most definitely did not have a fifteen year old daughter.

The next two pages were titled 'History' and 'Biography' and provided a back-story for the character Alex was supposed to be playing. Whilst set out in short bullet points they provided far more details than the first page and it took him a while to read through it all. When finished, he leaned back in his seat as he tried to process everything he had read.

It clarified a lot of the questions and doubts he had had after reading the first page. His 'mother and father' had married straight after high school in 1985, with Ben enlisting in the army almost immediately afterwards. He'd been on various deployments over the next sixteen years, earning promotions along the way. The long periods away from home had strained his relationship with his fictional wife, ultimately resulting in a divorce in 1997. He'd subsequently gone on to complete SAS training in 2001, the dates corresponding with when Alex had first met him in the Brecon Beacons. Ben's departure from the SAS after completing his training, in reality due to his recruitment by MI6, was stated as being due to the diagnosis of Claire Daniels with cervical cancer.

Alex was further convinced that whoever had conceived his – or rather Andrea's – back-story knew about him being involved, as the entire character of Andrea was designed to cover up any of Alex's flaws in her portrayal. She'd been taught at home by Claire until the age of eleven before attending an all-girls high school, so was naturally nervous and somewhat awkward around other people, young men in particular. Her vocal cords had been slightly damaged due to a botched intubation during an operation in her youth so her voice was prone to becoming raspy and hoarse. She was training as a modern pentathlete accounting for her more muscular physique. She'd shaved her head in solidarity when Claire started chemotherapy which accounted for the current short length of her hair. All in all, anything non-feminine about Andrea could be readily justified, easing Alex's worries that he would slip up and not be able to explain what had happened.

Key mission dates were set out on the next page and Alex was startled to note that he was due to assume Andrea's identity on the coming Saturday, giving him only four training sessions to nail down his female persona. Following that he was due to spend two weeks in the London school closest to Ben's apartment to give him chance to practice before registering at St Helena's Academy, the school Blunt had chosen to send him to, after October half term.

"We've arrived, sir," stated the driver, snapping Alex out of his thoughts.

"Oh, thanks," he replied, closing the file and slipping it into his rucksack alongside his textbooks. Letting himself out of the car he entered the Royal and General and approached the service desk as he had been instructed to by a note clipped to the first page of the brief. The man stood behind the desk raised an eyebrow at him.

"Can I help you, sir?"

"Yes, I have an appointment at four fifteen with Mrs Cheswick."

The man's other eyebrow shot up to meet its neighbour. "Your name, sir?"

Alex took a deep breath and told his first lie of the mission. "Daniels."

The assistant clicked away at his computer for a few moments before nodding. "She's expecting you. Follow me please, Mr Daniels."

He showed Alex to a lift in the corner of the room and proceeded to accompany him up to the third floor. Two lefts and a right later they stopped outside a wooden door with the number 325 etched in gold at eye level.

"Have a good day, sir," the attendant said as he headed back down the corridor, leaving Alex alone. He reached up to knock then paused, biting his lip. This door terrified him – well, not the door itself as such but the prospect of what lay behind it. Mrs Jones' words from early that morning – _heels, makeup, voice_ – echoed in his head and he wondered which of them he would be subjected to today. He realised his hand was shaking, a reaction he had never had before. The urge to run was overwhelming and he had to draw on all of his courage to ignore the impulse, straighten his spine and rap on the door.

"Come in," came the call from within and he pushed the handle and let himself in, pausing in surprise when he realised who was waiting for him.

"Monica?"

Blunt's secretary smiled as she held out her hand for him to shake. "Good afternoon, Alex. Come in, take a seat."

Alex eased the door shut behind him as he followed her over to the far side of the room where two chairs were placed on either side of a small round table. Monica sat down in one and took a small sip from a glass of water.

"You look surprised. Am I not who you were expecting?"

Alex rubbed the back of his neck sheepishly. "I didn't know what to expect, to be honest. I just wouldn't have thought that doing... well, _this_ to me would have been in your job description."

She laughed. "There's a lot in my job description that isn't standard secretary. And there's no need to be nervous; I don't bite."

Alex flopped inelegantly into the other chair and snorted incredulously. "No need to be nervous? You do know what you're supposed to be teaching me to do, right?"

"Of course, but it's really not as terrible as you're probably imagining. I've trained half a dozen male agents to go undercover like you're going to do and all of them passed as women successfully. It's even easier now than it was five years ago thanks to Smithers' new inventions. And Alex? I want to reassure you that doing this does not make you any less of a man. On the contrary, agreeing to do this when it quite obviously scares you shows that you're braver than the majority of men out there."

Alex flushed slightly but nodded, already feeling more at ease. It must have been a pep talk Monica had practiced or given to others before him, as she had said exactly the things he'd needed to hear. "Right, so where do we start?"

"Shoes," she said and picked up a shoebox from the floor, thrusting it into his hands. His trepidation returned full force and he reluctantly removed the lid, folding back the tissue paper that sat on top. Inside was a pair of black patent leather court shoes which narrowed to sharp points and were adorned with small black bows above the toes.

"Are you serious?" Alex exclaimed disbelievingly, lifting one out to examine the heel. Not quite a stiletto, it was nevertheless slender and extremely high. "I'll break my neck!"

"Nonsense," Monica said, "They're only two and a half inches, you'll be fine. Most girls live in shoes far higher than that, but given your height you don't want to be going too much higher than those. Your school shoes are a lot lower so once you master these you should be able to walk in anything you want."

"I want to wear trainers; girls wear those."

"Not at the school you're going to, they don't." She handed him a pair of socks that were made of the same material as ladies' tights. "Use these for now; you can tackle full tights later."

Alex took them from her, eyeing them distastefully. "Is this really necessary?"

She sighed. "You accepted the mission knowing it would be, Alex. We don't have as much time as I would like – as you read in your brief, your 'transformation' is this Saturday – so we have a lot to get through in a very short space of time. I know it's hard, but we really don't have the time for stalling."

Which is why, three hours later, Alex finally left the Royal and General with very sore feet, the shoes stowed out of sight in his backpack. Monica hadn't let him take them off for the entire session, even after his walking exercises were complete and they'd sat down together to tackle makeup. That had been the most embarrassing moment of his life. Monica had emptied a bag full of little brushes, tubes, jars and bottles onto the table, explaining what everything was and where to use it. She'd proceeded to make up the left side of his face for him before setting up a mirror on the desk and guiding him through copying her work on the right side. He was pretty hopeless at first, poking himself in the eye with the mascara wand and smearing the coloured lip balm halfway across his cheek. Two or three attempts later his effort was passable and he'd been amazed how different he looked. His skin gave off a healthy glow and his eyes – outlined in a thin layer of black and framed by longer, darker lashes – appeared larger and softer. The colour on his lips was subtle but those too seemed bigger and plumper. The thing that amazed him the most was that, despite all the hard work, it almost looked natural; there were no bright colours, heavy black lines or deep red cheeks like he was used to seeing on the girls at school. Monica had told him that this was his 'casual everyday' look and that they would go over 'dressed up' makeup later in the week. Wonderful.

The car was waiting for him outside and he slid gratefully into it, heaving a satisfied sigh as he was able to take the weight off his pinched and tortured feet. He had instructions from Monica to wear his new shoes whenever he could at home, and as much as he would love to throw them in the bin and forget about them, he knew he needed the practice if he was to become Andrea at the weekend. He'd just have to make sure to put them somewhere Jack wouldn't find them.

* * *

"Well, how was it?" Jack asked him when he got home.

"Fine," he replied, stretching and rolling the kinks out of his shoulders.

She raised an eyebrow when he turned to face her. "You didn't tell me you were working with a partner."

"What?"

"You've got a little something right here," she said, rubbing her thumb against the side of his mouth. It came away tinged with pink. She winked at him. "Don't worry, I won't tell anyone. An older woman, Alex – I'm impressed!"

He fled, horrified, to the bathroom to see what else he'd accidentally left on his face. Jack teased him mercilessly all evening, so much so that when he finally managed to escape to his bedroom and the torturous shoes that awaited him, he felt nothing but relief. He reclined on his bed, exhausted. It certainly hadn't been his idea of fun but he'd survived, and he drifted off to sleep with far more confidence than he'd had previously.

* * *

"Still got your bollocks?" Tom asked the next morning. Alex flicked him the finger and ignored him for the rest of the day.

* * *

An identical pair of the dreaded shoes were waiting for him right next to the door when he let himself into his 'training room' on Wednesday afternoon. He cast an imploring glance at Monica but she only raised an eyebrow and flicked her head at the offending items. He sighed and pulled off his own pair of shoes and socks, replacing them with the pop socks and court shoes. He wobbled a bit before finding his balance, still unused to the feeling of his heels being elevated off the ground and all his weight being put on the balls of his feet. Remembering his instructions from yesterday, he put one foot in front of the other as he walked across the room to Monica, the action naturally making his hips sway. Monica gave him an approving smile as he sat down, remembering at the last second to cross his ankles.

"Very good – you're a fast learner," she complimented him.

Alex shrugged. "I have to be; I wouldn't still be alive otherwise," he stated.

She was silent for a moment, and Alex could tell that she was accepting the truth of the statement whilst still being unhappy with the implications. She sighed and set the makeup bag on the table next to the mirror and a portable CD player.

"Right, let's see how much you remember. Face on, casual."

Alex rolled his eyes – it sounded like she was commanding a dog to do tricks – but obediently extracted the right components from the bag and shakily applied the cosmetics to his face. He cast a critical eye over his attempts when he'd finished. His eyeliner line was a bit jagged and smudged onto his eyelid and the mascara was a bit clumpy, but other than that it didn't look too bad. He sighed and looked up at Monica.

"Do you want me to redo it?"

"Later," she said. Then, apparently noticing his disheartened face, she reached over and squeezed his hand reassuringly. "Hey, don't worry about it; it's only the second day you've been doing this and you're doing really well."

Alex shook his head in frustration and turned back to the mirror. "It doesn't matter how well I do it or how different I look with it on, I still look like a boy."

"You won't. It just looks odd at the minute because you don't match; you're making your face look more feminine whilst still having a masculine hairstyle and wearing male clothes. When we put everything together at the end you'll look just fine. Trust me."

Alex did trust her. After all, she'd done this before with men who must have been a lot older than he was – men who probably had to shave more than once a fortnight and were probably a lot more heavily built. He nodded his acceptance.

"Right, so what are we covering today?"

"Your voice," Monica replied, "We've included a bungled operation in your medical history so you have an excuse if it comes across a little too, er, manly, but we still need to get it as feminine as possible to begin with. Your age should mean it's not too difficult as it won't have been more than a few years since your voice broke, I presume."

"So what, I need to try and talk a lot higher?" Alex asked.

"Everyone assumes that, but in reality it's not really the case – you speak in falsetto and you will sound like a man trying to sound like a woman. Have a listen to this and see what you think."

She pressed a button on the CD player and a male voice started talking. Alex quickly recognised it as an excerpt from the first Harry Potter novel, in the first chapter when Dumbledore and Professor McGonagall discuss the Potters on Privet Drive. He listened as two people, a man and a women, narrated the conversation between the two characters, then after a minute it went silent. He glanced up, confused as to what he was supposed to have heard.

"What was that, exactly?"

She smiled slyly. "There was only one person on that recording – one of our male agents who I've worked with before."

Alex's mouth dropped open. "You're kidding?"

"Would I do that? Now, have another listen."

She skipped back to the beginning of the track and played it again, Alex listening far more intently this time. He was honestly flabbergasted – the two voices were roughly the same pitch, but the female one was softer, smoother, more lyrical, if that made any sense. He shook his head in amazement.

"How is that possible? The pitch was practically the same, but they sounded so different!"

Monica switched the CD player off. "It's not just about pitch; it's about the nuances of speech, inflection, light and shade in your tone. Men's voices resonate more and they tend to push words from the chest, so they sound deeper even though they're actually speaking at the same level. They put emphasis on words or parts of a sentence by varying volume. Women, on the other hand, tend to emphasise points by changing pitch ever so slightly. They generally speak softer and vary their tone a lot more, although it's done in stages or else it comes across as nervousness. They typically have better articulation and enunciation. Yes, you will have to raise the pitch of your voice to make it higher, but all the fine distinctions are what will truly make you sound female."

Alex leaned back in his seat, running his hands through his hair. "Right, so how the hell do I do that?"

"Practice."

* * *

From that moment on, Alex was not permitted to speak in his normal voice around Monica. After explaining how to adjust his voice she left him alone with the CD for the next two hours, instructing him to listen and try to match his voice to what he heard. It was a lot harder than the other agent had made it sound; by the time she returned he was frustrated, tired and his throat felt sore. She chastised him for not drinking more water, but at the same time she seemed pleased with his progress. He'd managed to throw his voice up to a pitch that was comfortable but he couldn't maintain it for very long. He was worried it wouldn't be enough, but Monica assured him that it was a perfectly natural pitch for a young woman and his vocal stamina would increase with practice.

She had him parade round the room in his heels with a book balanced on his head, a task he found surprisingly straightforward. She then produced a pair of mannequin heads topped with long brown wigs and had him copy her as she arranged the hair into various styles. He took to that quite quickly as well, easily pulling the hair into a ponytail followed by a plait followed by a bun, although it became far harder when Monica deposited the wig on his head and he had to repeat the movements with his arms twisted behind him.

His training sessions were more of the same on Thursday and Friday, and by the end of Friday evening he could walk comfortably in heels, put on tights without laddering them, apply both casual and more dramatic makeup, style his wig and fasten his bra strap behind his back. Monica was also extremely pleased with what he'd been able to achieve with his voice; he could speak for a considerable length of time, laugh, whisper and even sing a little in the higher pitch he referred to as Andy's voice. Monica held up her hand and he paused, lowering the battered copy of Shakespeare's Othello he'd been reading from.

"Is everything alright?" he asked, raising the pitch of his voice at the end of the sentence rather than the volume.

Monica gave him a brilliant smile. "I think we're done, Alex. Here, do you want a glass?"

She extracted a bottle of wine from a bag beneath the table, turning it to show him the label. He raised an eyebrow incredulously.

"You do know I'm only fifteen, right? It's kind of illegal."

"Are you going to turn me in?" she laughed, deftly extracting the cork and pouring him a glass of the dark, plum-coloured liquid. He lifted it to his nose, entranced by the fruity smell that was far richer than anything he'd encountered before. She filled a second glass and clinked it against his own. "Cheers."

He echoed her sentiment and took a sip, his eyes slipping shut as the rich flavours exploded on his tongue. "That's delicious."

"That it is," she said, taking a sip of her own, "And I want you to know that you've definitely earned it. You've worked hard and done everything I've asked of you without complaint. You are a remarkable young man, Alex, and I feel privileged to have worked with you."

Alex felt his cheeks heat and he took another swig of wine so he didn't have to answer. He wasn't really sure what he'd done to merit such a compliment. "It was necessary," he mumbled.

"If you had chosen not to accept the mission, it wouldn't have been," she countered, "And as I said earlier in the week, you were incredibly courageous to do so. I'll tell you now that you have nothing to worry about; you've picked everything up extremely quickly, and after your makeover tomorrow you won't even recognise yourself."

Alex smiled wearily and ran his finger around the rim of his glass, pausing to rub away the stain his lipstick had made on the rim. "I hope so; I'd hate to think all of this was for nothing."

"Trust me, it won't be," she assured him, draining the rest of her glass and standing up to leave, "Now finish up and take your face off. Go home, get a good night's sleep and the car will pick you up tomorrow morning. Sweet dreams."

* * *

Alex took a deep breath before selecting Tom's number from his phone's memory and hitting call. He hadn't mentioned anything to his friend earlier because he hadn't wanted Tom to flip out at school and shout out something he shouldn't. Alex twisted his duvet in his fist as the ringing tone echoed in his ear; it was a few seconds before Tom picked up.

"Alex?"

"Hi, Tom."

"Everything alright?"

"Yeah, I just wanted to let you know that..." he paused, taking a deep breath, "That I'm going undercover tomorrow. Today was my last day at school, so I probably won't see you for a while."

"Oh."

There was silence for a long time, making Alex feel terrible. He should have said something in person rather than over the phone; what kind of crap friend was he?

"Right. Okay." Tom sighed deeply. "I know you're good at that shit, Alex, and that it's only a school, but be careful and come back soon. You know I don't stand a chance with my GCSEs without you to help me."

Alex chuckled. "Sure, I'll be as quick as possible."

There was another strained silence, neither knowing what to say, before Tom finally exhaled heavily. "Well, thanks for calling. Good luck and I'll see you soon."

"Yeah, you too. Bye."

"Bye."

He hit the red button on his phone and reclined on his bed. This time tomorrow he'd be in Ben's apartment after his 'makeover', as Monica had put it earlier. He bit his lip as he closed his eyes and switched off his lamp. He only hoped that everything he'd been through this week would be worth it.


	3. Becoming Andrea

**_Friendly Fire_**

**Disclaimer**: Alex Rider belongs to Anthony Horowitz

**Warnings**: AU following Crocodile Tears, some strong language

**Rating**: T

* * *

**Chapter 3. Becoming Andrea**

Breakfast on Saturday morning was a quiet, sombre affair. Jack's head rested in one hand whilst she stirred her cereal with the other, the cornflakes long since reduced to a soggy mess. Alex's stomach felt like it was filled with butterflies. He was more confident now that he could pull this off than he had been at the beginning of the week, but that still didn't ease the terror of actually having to go through with it. The craziest thing about it was that he actually hoped he looked good as a girl when they were through with him; it would make pulling off the charade that much easier. He snorted softly. Since when had those thoughts crept into his head? The idea should horrify him; surely he was too masculine, both in looks and mannerisms, to pass as a girl?

He checked his watch, as he had been doing every minute for the last half hour. The minute hand was hovering just shy of the hour; his car would be here any minute.

"It's time," he murmured, dropping his spoon into his untouched bowl and standing up. Jack rose with him, her face pale and strained.

"There's still time, Alex," she begged, "Just call them and tell them you've changed your mind."

Alex shook his head sadly. "I can't, Jack. I… I just can't. I have to do this."

She squeezed her eyes shut, dropping her head. "Of course you do. You always do." When she looked back up, Alex was startled to see that her eyes were wet. Without hesitation he skirted the table and pulled her into a rough hug which she enthusiastically returned.

"Damn hormones," she grumbled, making him crack a smile. He held her until he heard the sound of a car pulling up outside, at which point she extracted herself from his embrace and took a step back.

"You look after yourself, Alex Rider, and come back in one piece or I'll hunt you down and kill you myself."

"I'll come back, I promise," Alex assured her. Before he could lose his nerve he quickly pulled on his trainers and left, the front door closing silently behind him. He let himself into the waiting car, surprised to find he had company.

"Good morning, Andy," Monica greeted him and Alex realised he had probably spoken his last words in his normal voice for quite some time. He smiled wryly across at her.

"Morning," he said, throwing his voice up into Andy's lilting alto. Monica smiled approvingly back. "So, what's the plan for today?"

"Before we start, I just want to warn you that a lot of this will probably be overwhelming and if you need to take a break at any point, just let us know." She waited for his confirmatory nod before continuing. "Okay, so first you need to be de-fuzzed…"

"De-fuzzed?"

"That's what we ladies call it. Essentially, all your leg, underarm and facial hair along with anything down there or on your chest has to go. Oh, and your eyebrows need shaping too."

Alex's stomach gave an unpleasant lurch. "All of it?"

"Afraid so. We'll wax some areas and use a removal cream on the rest. Both should last a fair amount of time but you'll have to keep an eye out, particularly on your face. Growing a beard would probably blow your cover pretty quickly."

Alex gulped, really not liking the sound of that. "It's not permanent, is it?"

She twisted in her seat to face him head on. "None of this is permanent, I thought you knew that. We would never do anything to you that couldn't be reversed, do you understand?"

He bit the inside of his cheek as he nodded. Whilst he hadn't expected this to be easy, the details of what he was about to go through were only adding to his nervousness. "Okay, so what's next?"

"You'll be meeting with Smithers to get you kitted out…"

"Gadgets?" Alex interrupted.

"Among other things." She smirked impishly at his confused look. "Smithers will be providing you with your, ah, more womanly physique."

"Womanly physique?" Alex asked before paling as he realised what she meant. How had that not occurred to him before, that to pass as a woman he would need... _those_? "You mean..." he began but trailed off, unable to continue. Instead, he waved his hand around his chest area, hoping she understood what he meant.

She laughed lightly at him. "Yes, I mean..." she repeated, waving her hand over her own ample chest. Alex cheeks went from white to magenta in seconds. "And also..." she continued, lowering her hand and indicating her hips.

"Right," Alex breathed heavily, leaning his head back against the head rest to stop it from spinning. It was logical, of course, that he would need padding out in certain places, but the thought had never even crossed his mind. The masochistic part of him was rather intrigued as to how they would manage to do that to him, and he quickly pushed that part to the back of his brain. "Anything else?"

"The wife of one of our agents is a mobile hairdresser and she's bringing her kit in this afternoon to do your hair and extensions..."

"Extensions? I thought I was wearing a wig!"

"Honestly Andy, you're starting to sound like a parrot!" she admonished, "Of course you're getting extensions. A wig would be too much hassle for you to handle on a daily basis, plus what would you do with it when you go swimming as part of your training?"

Alex shrugged resignedly. He supposed it couldn't be any worse than getting a _womanly physique_ or having _down there_ 'de-fuzzed'. Monica turned to him, a concerned frown on her face.

"You're not having second thoughts, are you?"

Alex laughed humourlessly. "Constantly, but it always comes back to the fact that I have to do this. It doesn't matter that you, Blunt and Mrs Jones tell me that it's my choice; as long as the choice is there I feel compelled to do it."

She looked visibly upset. "I'm sorry you feel that way."

"It's not your fault," he murmured, "And really, this last week hasn't been half as awful as it could have been, so thanks for that."

"Anytime."

Alex smiled slightly. "Besides," he added, "I'm officially retiring after this. This is my last ever mission, so I might as well go out in spectacular fashion."

She smiled at him. "Got any plans for your retirement bonus?"

He grinned back and, for the remainder of the journey they discussed his plans for university. She was delighted to hear he was interested in the sciences and, by the time they pulled up outside the headquarters, they were both laughing as she told him stories from her own days as a Chemistry undergraduate. They were still chuckling as they ascended in the lift and headed down the corridor to Alex's usual training room, but his nervousness returned full force as she opened the door and he saw what was waiting for him.

A reclining chair similar to the one in his dentist's surgery was set up in the middle of the room alongside a deep bowl filled with water. On the usual circular table was a pile of plastic strips and some odd cylindrical contraption he didn't recognise. A man he didn't know was sat in Monica's usual chair; he looked up as they entered, standing up and offering his hand.

"Good morning. I'm Chris, it's nice to meet you," he said.

Alex's mouth dropped open. He recognised that voice; it was the one he'd heard on the CD reciting the Harry Potter book, and Chris, who had to be at least six foot tall and resembled a rugby player, had introduced himself in his feminine voice. Chris chuckled softly at Alex's gobsmacked expression.

"Yeah, me too," he said, switching to a deep baritone, "Monica thought you might be more comfortable with a man helping you for parts of today. It's mortifying, I know, but I've been there and done it all so I know exactly what you're going through. Trust me, thought, it will work. Here."

He handed Alex a colour photograph showing a striking businesswoman in a power suit, long black curls tumbling down on either side of a perfectly made-up face. Alex knew what Chris was implying but he just couldn't reconcile the imposing man before him with the curvy woman shown in the photo. He shook his head in disbelief.

"Wow. I wasn't expecting..."

Chris smirked. "I know, I was shocked too. My wife found the photo and asked me how long I'd been seeing this other woman behind her back! Trust me, if I can pull it off I'm sure you can. And it really doesn't hurt that much."

Alex felt himself pale. "It hurts?"

"Just the waxing – everything else is more uncomfortable than painful. We'll be as gentle as we can, I promise."

Monica stepped up behind him and dropped a hand lightly on his shoulder. "Are you ready to get going?"

Alex handed the photo back to Chris, took a deep breath and nodded resolutely. "No time like the present; let's get it over and done with."

Five minutes later Alex was reclined in the chair clad in only his briefs, shivering both with cold and trepidation. Chris was heating up the wax in the cylinder on the table whilst Monica explained what was going to happen to him. Alex felt his shivering increase as he tried to take it all in.

"So, wax on the legs and eyebrows with cream on the face, underarms and, er... _between_ the legs?"

"That's right. We'll start at the bottom and work our way up."

Chris held the pot out to Monica and she picked up what looked to Alex like an overly large lolly stick. She used it to stir the contents of the pot, lifting up the thick ochre liquid and letting it plop heavily back. Apparently satisfied, she scooped up a large amount and deposited it on Alex's lower leg. He flinched in surprise; it was hot, yes, and a different sensation to anything he'd felt before, but it wasn't painful like Chris had implied. Monica added a bit more then spread the wax evenly down his leg to his ankle. She dropped the stick back into the pot and instead took up a thin strip of material; this she placed on top of the waxed area and patted down.

"There, that wasn't too bad, was it?" Chris asked.

Alex turned to him. "Not at all, really. I don't know what all the fuss... _Holy shit_!"

He shot bolt upright in his chair and clapped his hands to his smarting leg, hissing in pain as Monica triumphantly held up the strip of material to which his leg hair was now attached. Chris, unhelpfully, snorted in laughter and Alex shot him a death glare.

"You said it didn't hurt that much!" he hissed accusingly.

"Oh don't fuss so much," Monica chided him as she dropped the hairy strip in the bin and picked up the stick again, "There's no gain without pain. It's not that bad, and it'll last for ages. Just be careful, though, you used your male voice when you cursed. You have to keep the charade up even when surprised. And you," she added, pointing the stick threateningly at Chris, "You cried the first time I did your legs and you're more than twice Andy's age. Now pass me the wax."

Alex felt infinitely better as Chris' cheeks flushed red. Now that the shock of the first one was over he was able to keep his outbursts to winces as Monica tore strip after strip off his abused legs. She de-fuzzed him all the way from his ankles to the line of his briefs, at which point Alex's face was red more from embarrassment than pain. After what seemed like hours she finally set the stick down and wiped flecks of dried wax from her hands and his legs with a wet cloth.

"Right, your legs are done. You might want to rub this in; it'll ease the burn," she advised, passing Alex a large bottle. He took it gratefully and squeezed a dollop onto his left leg, grimacing at the sting as it hit his sensitive skin. He gingerly started massaging it in and within a few seconds the burn faded, causing him to sigh in relief. The feeling of completely smooth skin felt alien under his fingertips and he forced the ordeal to the back of his mind. It was necessary for the mission, that was all. It would grow back in no time.

"Right, eyebrows next," Monica announced. Alex groaned but obediently closed his eyes as Monica applied the wax to both eyebrows. "We'll do both at once to get it over and done with."

"This is child abuse," Alex muttered as he felt Monica smooth the last two strips into place. He clenched his fists and gritted his teeth but nothing could have prepared him for the pain as the strips were yanked off simultaneously. He swore furiously and doubled up, grinding his fists against his tortured face in an effort to ease the fiery sting. He gingerly padded the smarting area, running his fingers over the thin line of hair that remained – it felt just as strange as the feeling of his hairless legs rubbing together.

"Ouch," he moaned, still not uncurling from his foetal position.

He felt Monica rub his shoulder soothingly. "That's definitely the worst over, Andy," she assured him, "We've completely finished with the wax, so it's just depilatory cream everywhere else."

"Does that hurt?"

"Not at all," Chris answered, "It just dissolves the hair right away, so there's no pain at all. It's an MI6 special as well so it'll get rid of really short hairs normal cream wouldn't touch."

"If it doesn't hurt, why couldn't you have used that on my legs and eyebrows?"

"Your leg hair was too dense for it to work effectively, and it would be a lot harder to get a clean, neat line for your eyebrows than with wax."

"You know way too much about this," Alex stated, "And since when do MI6 make hair removal cream?"

"Since we tell the lab geeks we need it," Monica replied.

Eventually Alex forced himself to uncurl and hold still whilst the pair of them smeared the thick, foul-smelling cream over his jaw and above his top lip, extending all the way up to cover the bits of hair in front of his ears. He had to endure the disgusting scent for ten minutes, during which Monica plucked some stray hairs from his eyebrows, before they wiped it off with a damp cloth, his facial hair coming clean away. He cautiously ran his hand over his face but, as promised, there was no pain at all. It was an odd feeling; Alex usually only had to shave once every other week, but even so fine stubble was always left behind. Now, his face was as smooth as it had ever been. The process was repeated on his underarms and shortly they too were hair-free zones.

"Right," Monica said, suddenly looking awkward, "There's only one place left to do; how about I leave you boys to it?"

She disappeared out of the door in record time, leaving Alex and Chris looking uncomfortably at each other. Chris sighed and passed Alex a towel.

"Here, you think you can manage by yourself? It's just I... ah..." He bit his lip. "You're fifteen – it really would be, you know, child abuse, me touching... I don't... er..."

"It's fine," Alex said hastily, grabbing the towel, "I'm sure I can do it. Put on, wait ten minutes, wipe off, right?"

Chris looked mightily relieved. "Great. Well, I'll just, you know, wait outside. Give us a shout if, well..."

He trailed off and slunk after Monica, leaving Alex alone with the tube of cream and the towel. Alex took a deep breath and slipped his briefs off, feeling slightly obscene. Here he was in the middle of MI6 headquarters completely naked. Tom would probably find the whole thing hilarious. Alex wondered what Ian would think if he could see his nephew now. Would he be happy that Alex was following in the family business, doing his best for their country? Would he be saddened that Alex had gotten caught up in all of this and was currently feeling more humiliated than he had ever done before?

Before he could lose his nerve further Alex took a deep breath and squeezed some of the cream onto his fingers, reaching down to rub it into the required area. He raised his hips and reached further back with his fingers, making sure the entire area was covered. The next ten minutes, reclined on the chair with his legs splayed wide open, were probably the most uncomfortable of Alex's life. He spent the entire time dreading the possibility of someone opening the door and seeing him like this, even though logically he knew Monica and Chris were waiting outside and would make sure no one came in. As soon as the time was up he grabbed the towel, dunked it in the bowl of warm water and carefully wiped the cream away. He watched in morbid fascination as his hair went with it.

Once he felt completely clean he dried himself and pulled his clothes back on, the underwear and jeans feeling peculiar against his hairless skin. He could feel the difference with every step he took, the fabrics feeling rougher and coarser than they had done before. Maybe that was why women were obsessed with fancy materials like silk – his male clothes rubbed unpleasantly. Or maybe it was just because his skin was still sensitive from his recent tribulation. He made a mental note to ask Monica then quickly scratched it out; he didn't want to know any more about being a woman than he absolutely had to.

Monica and Chris were both leaning against the opposite wall when he pulled the door open and they straightened as he stepped out into the corridor.

"Did you manage alright?" Monica asked him.

"It's not exactly rocket science," Alex retorted, "So, Smithers next?"

"Don't you want a break?"

Alex sighed and shook his head. "I'd much rather get it over and done with, if that's alright."

"Of course," Chris answered before Monica could, "He's expecting you at any time, so we can head right over. We can have lunch afterwards."

Smithers was more than happy to see Alex straight away, beckoning the three of them in with his meaty arm. His shirt was an eye-watering shade of aquamarine and decorated with a pattern of yellow ducks. Alex vaguely wondered which clothes shop would be mad enough to stock and sell such an odd item.

"Andrea, my girl, do come in! Or do you prefer Andy?" he boomed.

"Probably better to go with Andrea," Alex replied as he took the seat Smithers indicated, Monica and Chris perching on the edge of Smithers' work bench, "I need to get used to answering to it after all."

"Quite right," Smithers stated, appearing nonplussed at Alex's feminine voice, "So, what do you want to do first? I have your gadgets all ready to go..."

"Show me those afterwards," Alex interjected, "It'll give me something to look forward to."

"Very well. Come with me, then, and we'll get you all fitted out," Smithers said as he levered himself out of his chair and waddled across the room to a bookcase pushed against the far wall. Alex didn't see which book he pulled on but a few seconds later a section of the wall swung outwards, revealing a hidden room double the size of Smithers' office.

"Clichéd, I know, but I couldn't resist!" Smithers chortled as he led the way into the concealed room. It was relatively bare but Alex groaned as he took in a chair similar to the one he had just left set up in the centre. Smithers, however, headed over to a table on the left hand side of the room, on top of which was a padlocked metal case about three feet long. Smithers unlocked it with a key he produced from his trouser pocket and Alex leaned over his shoulder to see what was revealed.

Lying on top of a bed of cotton wool were three flesh-coloured blobs. Two were of a similar size, rounded and topped with a darker pink nub, whilst the third was much larger although its shape was indistinct. Alex's stomach flip-flopped dangerously as he realised what he was looking at. He gripped the edge of the table to stop his hands shaking and he closed his eyes to try and fight off a sudden bout of light-headedness. Chris put a comforting hand between Alex's shoulder blades, peering over to look into the box.

"Cheer up, Andy. I promise you, it's not as scary as it looks. If it makes you feel any better, my knockers were twice the size of those."

"But they're huge!" Alex exclaimed, picking one of the matching pair up and hefting it in his hand. It was heavier than he'd expected and slightly squishy, the colour a perfect match for his own skin tone.

"I'm afraid they have to be... on the generous side, Andy," Smithers said, "You're tall and have broad shoulders; to make you look proportioned we have to make your lower half, well, more ample than it is to match your upper half and you need the assets to match."

"Can't I just, I don't know, have a developmental problem or something?"

"We're not doing this to embarrass you," Monica said, "They're an integral part of your cover. Would you have any doubts about a slightly boyish-looking girl if she happened to be well endowed? I doubt it. It's the same principle as with your hair; you have an excuse for it being short if anyone notices, but extensions will allow you to blend in more with your peers. Very few teenage girls have short hair these days."

Alex understood, he really did, but it didn't make the situation any less traumatic. "You don't have to put them _in_ me, do you?"

"Of course not!" Smithers said, looking outraged, "We would never do that to you! No, these are just very advanced adhesive attachments."

Alex raised what remained of his right eyebrow. "Stick-on breasts?"

Smithers huffed. "Far more complicated than that but, essentially, yes. Look." He picked up the second and turned it so the curved surface was in his hand, unfolding perhaps half an inch of an incredibly fine gauze-like material from the flat side. "This material was created here in our very own labs. It will be at least twenty years before any academic or industrial groups manages to come up with anything remotely similar! It is a biopolymer that fuses harmlessly and seamlessly to your own skin; it's porous so allows your skin to breathe even when covered for long periods of time. The main padding material is temperature-sensitive so if your skin gets warm, such as when you're exercising or in the shower, the colour will darken so it matches your own skin. When you've completed the mission I will simply apply the special solvent and the polymer will literally detach and fall off your skin. There are no long-lasting effects whatsoever, as I'm sure Chris will attest to. Plus you don't have much of an Adam's apple to cover up, so you won't have to have anything round your neck like he did."

Alex placed the blob in his hand back into the case and poked the much larger one. "And this?"

Chris reached across him and picked it up. "These are your hips. It's essentially a padded pair of briefs that don't come off. They're comfier to wear without hair, that's why we had you get rid of it."

Alex cocked his head. "Er, this might be a daft question but if they don't come off then how am I supposed to, you know, use the loo?"

"Sitting down," Chris deadpanned. Monica elbowed him in the ribs.

Smithers cleared his throat, looking slightly uncomfortable. "There are holes in the right positions. You'll just have to wipe carefully."

Alex wrinkled his nose. "That's disgusting. And what about, you know, my male stuff down there?"

"It fits," Smithers assured him, "Now, why don't we just get these on before you work yourself up any more?"

Alex opened his mouth to retort but snapped it shut before saying anything. Smithers was right; he was working himself up and it wouldn't do him or any of the others any good at all if he started panicking. They were false breasts, that's all. Yes, it was mortifying, but with the exception of half a dozen people in MI6, no one would ever know about this. He sighed and nodded.

"Sure, let's get going."

Monica once again left the room as Smithers instructed Alex to strip completely. He did so, blushing furiously as he stepped out of his briefs and covered his groin with his hands. He stepped into the leg holes when instructed, shivering at the odd feeling as Chris and Smithers slid the tight garment up his smooth legs. They paused at his mid thighs and Alex reluctantly removed his hands in order to position his equipment into the 'storage pouches' that Smithers pointed out in the material. As soon as he was settled they quickly pulled it up until it was in position over his own hips, forcing his male parts tightly but not uncomfortably against his own body. He looked down at himself in amazement as Smithers started smoothing down and sticking the biopolymer gauze to his skin.

"This is so weird. It's very... authentic," Alex commented as he carefully ran a finger downwards from his bellybutton, unable to find the seam where his own body ended and the padding started. His finger slipped lower and lower until it sunk into a hole in the material. He yanked his finger away and flushed crimson. "Too authentic!"

Smithers smiled. "I suppose I'll take that as a compliment. So that's that one done; just make sure you use the bathroom before you leave today to make sure everything's lined up properly, come and let me know if not and I can adjust it. Now put these on and we can do the other ones."

Alex stopped rubbing his hands over his hips, marvelling at the fact that the garment had some hard structures inside it to resemble wider hipbones, and caught the scrap of material Smithers tossed to him. He spread them out and sighed. Ladies underwear. Brilliant. Still, he obediently slid them up over his legs, the soft material feeling far better against his legs than his jeans had done, and settled them into place before reclining back in the chair Smithers waved him into. He kept his eyes closed in resignation as he felt the weights settle on his chest, thick but gentle fingers smoothing around the edges to stick them fully down. The entire process was quick and painless, the complete opposite of his waxing, yet when Smithers stepped away and announced he'd finished Alex felt far more emasculated than he had when his hair had been removed. He cracked his eyes open and gasped in shock and horror as almost his entire field of vision was taken up with the fleshy mounds perched on his chest. He gingerly sat up, astounded by how much the new weights pulled on his back. He reached up and cautiously cupped one; to his completely inexperienced hand it felt real. They were very natural, the colour matching his skin perfectly and the nipples dusky pink and perky. They just shouldn't be on him.

"You'll probably be more comfortable with this on," Smithers said, passing him a white satin bra. Alex took it and glanced at the label. 38C... bloody hell, he was huge! Still, he fastened it like Monica had taught him earlier in the week, sighing in relief as the pressure was taken off his back and transferred to his shoulders instead. The garment had the additional effect of lifting up his new assets so that they were displayed proudly in front of him, a side effect he was not quite as happy with. Smithers deposited a pile of folded clothes on the chair in front of him, his face uncomfortable and ruddy.

"Well, I'll just leave you to get dressed. Come out and join us when you're done, I'll order lunch."

He quickly took his leave, and Alex realised that Chris had also left at some point. He eased himself off the chair and stood upright, unable to take his eyes off his new body. It all looked so real, his new chest jutting seamlessly from his torso and his hips flaring out in smooth arcs from his waist. He sighed, brazenly running a finger down his cleavage. Maybe that was MI6's plan after all; any male he met would be so distracted by his chest they wouldn't even get round to looking at his face. This might just work after all.

He quickly got dressed in the clothes Smithers had left him: sheer tights; a knee-length pencil skirt with a slit up the front; an open-necked white blouse and a dark jacket. He smoothed the wrinkles out when he'd finished and slipped his feet into the familiar shoes he'd been practicing in all week. He knew how stupid he must look with a distinctly female body but a man's face and hairstyle, so it took a minute or two before he could pluck up the courage and head back into Smithers' office. He was met with an open mouth from Chris and a wry smile from Monica, who stood up and tugged at his skirt.

"Skirt zips go at the back," she informed him, swivelling it round so both the zip and slit were at the back.

"That's stupid," Alex commented, but he let her fuss and rearrange his blouse so it wasn't twisted. She gestured to Smithers' desk, upon which sat a variety of plates piled high with dainty little sandwiches and mounds of crisps.

"Dig in, it's after one," she said.

"Seriously?" he asked incredulously. He couldn't believe they'd been at this for over four hours; it felt like half that! At the same time, the fact that in that short space of time they'd succeeded in completely ridding him of his body hair and giving him a figure curvier than the majority of the girls at his old school was slightly scary. Nevertheless, as if on cue his stomach gave a very unladylike rumble and he smiled sheepishly before tucking in to the buffet. He was ravenous; he'd been unable to eat breakfast due to sheer terror. Now, that had dampened down to weary acceptance and he was slightly surprised by how calm he was. The worst was definitely over – there was only his hair left to do, and surely that couldn't be too bad?

Lunch seemed to fly by and in seemingly no time at all Monica was checking her watch and frowning. "Right, Smithers, can you finish getting Andy kitted out in about twenty minutes? It will give her time to do her makeup before Gemma arrives."

"Not a problem," Smithers replied, once more getting to his feet and leading Alex into the hidden room. He lifted the empty case off the table and replaced it with a long one he pulled out from underneath the chair. He shot Alex a grin as he unfastened it and Alex smiled back, rather excited. This was the only part of his job that he truly looked forward to and he had been anticipating it all week. Smithers cracked the lid open and removed the first item, holding it up for Alex to see.

"First things first, something every girl should have – an emergency makeup kit. Yours is a bit different to most girls', though." He unzipped the bag and withdrew a tube of lipstick. "The hint to this is in its name – Berry Explosion. As well as being a lovely shade of cerise, it's actually a pretty powerful explosive device. Simply pull the lipstick itself from the tube and throw; it'll go bang in five seconds. Feel free to use it as a lipstick if you want, though." He set it out on the table and took out a tube of mascara. "This mascara contains the same active ingredient as the metal-burning cream I gave you when you went to Cornwall, just coloured black. Waterproof, of course." Next came a small eyeshadow kit with application brush in the case. "In this instance, the important part is the brush. Squeeze the end that's not stained blue and it will scramble any recording signals in case you need a private conversation." He put that down and withdrew the last item, a tube of concealer.

"Let me guess," Alex said, "A tiny oxygen tank so I can breathe underwater."

Smithers frowned. "No, this is just emergency concealer. Those dark circles add years."

Alex chuckled softly as Smithers dumped all the components back into the bag and zipped it back up. He put it back into the case and withdrew the second item – a shoebox. He opened it to display the contents to Alex who yelped and stepped back.

"Bloody hell, I'll never be able to wear those!"

Smithers withdrew one of the shoes, a strappy monstrosity with a five inch stiletto heel. "Practice makes perfect. Anyway, did you know the name 'stiletto' originally came from slender blades of the same name? Look here." He twisted the heel tip on the left shoe one hundred and eighty degrees and pulled, withdrawing a paper-thin blade from within the heel itself. "The first inch is a handle. The next four are very sharp, so be careful. It's made of reinforced steel so should be able to withstand a decent amount of pressure before the blade fractures. I call them The Spikes." He reinserted the blade into the heel, rotating it to click it back into place, before placing the shoe back into the box.

"You might prefer this one," Smithers said, setting the shoebox down and taking out a long thin item that made Alex's eyes widen.

"Is that a sword?" he asked incredulously.

Smithers twirled it and offered him the hilt. "You're a modern pentathlete and one of the disciplines is fencing. That's an epée, adapted for electrical bouts."

"Electrical bouts?" Alex queried as he tried to wrap his hand around the protrusions on the handle.

"It will all be explained when you have lessons over the coming three weeks," Smithers told him, "But you need to know that this is no bog-standard epée. You see the plug on the inside of the guard where the wires go? Twist that ninety degrees and you'll release a fast acting general anaesthetic stored in the handle into the core of blade. Normally points are only scored in epée using the tip, so I've made your blade sharper than regulation dictates. It still won't cut through clothing, though, so you'll have to aim for exposed parts, like a hand or the neck. Just a shallow cut will deliver enough anaesthetic put the average man out for at least twenty minutes. Needless to say, whilst there's enough in there to knock out about twenty men there's no way to get it back into the handle once you've released it, so it's a single-use only gadget I'm afraid. Now, finally..."

Alex set the sword on the table and gasped when Smithers handed him the final object. "You're letting me have a gun?"

Smithers nodded. "To all intents and purposes it is a standard four point five millimetre air pistol used for the shooting discipline of the pentathlon. The pellets used for that are diabolo pellets with flat heads; these are loaded individually into the gun one at a time." Smithers paused and took a deep breath. "I've modified this to fire some bullets of my own design. There are six stored in the grip. Press your thumb against the underside of the butt to load the bullets – it's keyed to your thumbprint – and shoot as normal. Be very careful; there is no need for safety catches on air pistols so there isn't one on this or it would draw too much attention. Once it's primed, it's primed, and the next six times you pull the trigger you'll be firing bullets with the power to kill. I really hope you don't have to use it."

"So do I," Alex murmured as he handed the sleek pistol back to Smithers.

"Right, then. That's all I've got for you this time. I'll make sure everything finds its way into your belongings to be taken back to Ben's apartment. Now, you have about twenty minutes before Gemma arrives..."

"Gemma?"

"Chris' wife – she's a hairdresser. Anyway, you have to have your makeup done by then. Here, Monica left this for you." He passed Alex his usual makeup bag. "And here's a mirror. I guess I'll leave you to it."

"Thanks, Smithers," Alex said. He was genuinely fond of the big man and inordinately grateful for the personalised items that had saved his life time and time again. Smithers smiled at him.

"No problem, Andrea. As always, be careful and come back safely."

He left, taking the case of gadgets with him. Alex turned, perching on the edge of the table and taking a deep breath as he thought about what those particular gadgets meant for his mission. He'd never been allowed a gun before, not even after proving he was more than capable of using it if necessary. He was nearly sixteen this time, of course, but he didn't think that that would make much of a difference to Blunt when he authorised this particular item. Instead, Alex shuddered as he realised that those higher up expected this to get bloody, or knew far more than they were letting on and were actually scared for him. Neither prospect was particularly comforting.

He pushed those thoughts to the back of his mind and concentrated on applying his makeup, smart-casual to match his professional-looking outfit. A touch of colour on his eyelids and a deeper shade on his lips were the only real differences to his casual look but the difference was noticeable. He sighed as he capped the last tube and stared at himself in the mirror. His eyebrows were now thin and finely arched, complementing his larger-looking doe-like eyes. His made-up face was female, his body was most definitely female... The only male part left of him was his hair, and even that was about to be changed.

He grabbed his makeup case and headed back into Smithers' office. The man himself had disappeared, as had Monica, but Chris was waiting for him. He stood up, smiling when he saw Alex.

"Good job on your face. You ready to get your hair done? Monica's gone to meet Gemma downstairs."

"Ready as I'll ever be," Alex replied, "By the way, you didn't tell me Gemma was your wife!"

Chris rubbed the back of his neck sheepishly as he followed Alex out of the office down the corridor. "It was never really an issue. You don't have to worry; she's good at what she does, although I do think she takes some sort of perverse pleasure in doing a man's hair like this. At the very least she enjoys doing it to me; I think it's payback for all the times I've left her to wash up whilst I've gone to watch football in the living room." He paused for a moment. "I have a request. If she asks, please tell her you're eighteen. She'll castrate me with her styling scissors before she lets a fifteen year old go out on a mission."

Alex snorted. "Sure." They walked in silence for a minute, Alex's heels clicking on the floor. They were stood in the lift when Alex spoke again. "Does it bother _you_? Me being fifteen?"

Chris looked away uncomfortably. "Of course it does. You're only a child. The worst part, though, is that you're taking everything in your stride. It makes me wonder what you've done in the past to be so calm about all this, and I don't like what I'm imagining."

"You don't know? About my past missions, I mean."

The lift doors parted and they stepped out. "Not a thing, not even your real name; your clearance level is several higher than mine. Again, not a fact I'm happy about, not because I think mine should be higher but because I don't like what it implies about your previous missions."

Alex didn't know what to say to that. In the past he had only had Smithers expressing concern over his wellbeing, but now he had a feeling that both Monica and Chris would be firmly on his side if Blunt or Mrs Jones decided to break their promise and try to use him again. It was a comforting thought, that he actually had allies and people within MI6 who cared about him.

He quickly nipped into the bathroom as per Smithers' instructions, eventually winning the battle with his skirt, tights and underwear and sitting down. His cheeks flushed as he confirmed that yes, the holes were properly aligned and everything was in working order. He rejoined Chris in the corridor and the pair of them rounded the corner and entered Alex's training room for the second time that day. They were met by Monica and a petite, slender woman with strawberry blonde hair and rectangular glasses.

"Hi, honey," Chris greeted her, striding forward and dropping a quick kiss on her cheek before looping an arm around her slim shoulders, "Andrea, this is my wife, Gemma. Gemma, this is Andrea."

"Pleased to meet you," Alex said, offering his hand to Gemma. She shook it warmly.

"Andrea, is it? The pleasure's all mine. Might I say that you look lovely, far better than Christina did."

Alex flushed, instantly realising who she must be talking about. "I doubt that; I've seen the photo."

She raised an eyebrow. "You should be more confident. Even if I just styled your own hair you could pass easily; with extensions and a bit of styling you'll be a knockout."

"Just what every teenage boy wants to hear," Alex muttered.

Her brow drew down in concern. "Right, you two, out. I've got to work my magic." She shooed Monica and Chris out of the room, locking the door as she did so. She turned and sat next to him on the chair, reaching out to rub his arm gently. "Now, what was that comment about? And just how old are you?"

Alex sighed and lied, remembering his promise to Chris. "I'm eighteen, a new recruit. I can pass as someone younger, that's why they chose me this time. As for the first question..." He picked dejectedly at his fingernails. "I knew what this entailed; I knew you guys were going to make sure I can pass as a girl. It's just that that's all I expected to be able to do. Pass. The idea that you think I'll be a 'knockout'..."

She rubbed his back and finished his sentence. "You feel like you're masculinity's threatened."

He nodded. The feeling had been with him all week but he'd been able to deaden it, convincing himself that he might be able to pass but that underneath it all he'd still be able to recognise Alex. Now, he wasn't so sure.

"Does my husband seem at all effeminate to you, Andrea?" Gemma asked him.

He turned to her, startled. "Not at all. If he hadn't used his other voice I would never have guessed."

"On his second mission as Christina he went undercover in a strip club in Vegas." Alex gaped at her incredulously. "He'd get dolled up to the nines every night and twirl himself round metal poles, ultimately ending up giving strange men lap dances. When he came home we had a good laugh at the fact that he had dozens of male admirers falling over themselves to throw money at him. We hadn't expected them to go for the heavily muscled, Amazon goddess-like woman but as long as he had a revealing bra and thong on it didn't seem to matter.

"This isn't permanent. At the end of the day, you'll come back here and I'll cut your hair and they'll take away your perfect breasts – I'm very jealous, by the way – and you'll go back to being you, just the way you were. At first you might walk with a wiggle or accidentally speak in Andrea's voice, but eventually they'll be just like buttons that you can mentally press to turn the behaviours on and off. Trust me, you'll be fine."

Alex smiled at her. "Thanks, I needed that. At least there are no poles where I'm going."

She laughed. "Right, then, shall we get started?"

"Let's."

Even after a few short minutes, Alex could see why Chris was head over heels for Gemma. She laughed constantly and told him more amusing stories about Chris in skirts whilst she flitted about his head, smothering it in odd-smelling creams before lathering it up and washing out whatever she'd put on. She put him right at ease and he felt more relaxed than he had since he'd spotted the car after school on Monday. He was starting to see why Jack enjoyed going to the salon for her hair doing rather than taking Alex up on his offer of cutting it for her; it wasn't the quality of the cut but the feeling of being pampered that he could get used to.

"Right," Gemma said, tearing Alex out of the daze he'd quite happily fallen into, "I'll get your extensions in now then finish off the styling afterwards. Basically, I have to glue the extra hair to sectons of your own – as your own is quite long the attachment points should be easily covered. As long as you're careful not to snag the bonds with a hairbrush too often it should last until Christmas."

"Does it hurt?"

"Not really – it might be slightly uncomfortable as I have to pull your own hair tight to get a good bond, but it won't hurt."

True to her word the procedure was painless, and Alex could feel his head getting ever so slightly heavier with each strip of hair she attached to his own. Every now and then he felt Gemma run her fingers through it to smooth it down, and he was amazed to realise her fingers were drawing level with the bottom of his shoulder blades. Eventually she unfastened the hair she'd pinned up on top of his head and styled it round his face; he could feel shorter wisps brushing his cheeks and curling round his ears. Finally she whipped the protective cape from round his shoulders and took a step back, admiring her handiwork.

"That's it, you're done."

As if a switch had been flicked inside him, Alex suddenly felt sick. His transformation was done; he was Andrea. From now on he had to live like a girl, talk like one, act like one, dress like one... Bloody hell, what about other boys? Would he have to act like he liked them too? He squeezed his eyes shut as he attempted to control his breathing, which had sped up alarmingly. He couldn't do this – they were all wrong, he couldn't do it.

"Andrea? Are you okay?"

Hearing his new name out loud was all it took and he darted out of the room, hurtling down the corridor as fast as he could in his heels and throwing himself into the nearest bathroom. He was just about to dash into a cubicle when a flash of colour caught his eye and he paused, turning towards it. He gasped in disbelief as he saw himself in the mirror for the first time.

Gemma had made him a redhead. It wasn't a deep, obviously unnatural maroon nor was it the bright 'carrot-top' colour Jack possessed; instead, it was a warm, natural shade the colour of newly turned autumn leaves. He had a side-swept fringe that skimmed the top of his right eye and his face was framed by shorter lengths of hair, making it look less angular. The rest of his hair tumbled in gentle waves down his back and he grabbed a handful, pulling it in front of his shoulder to get a better look. It was silky soft and positively shone.

Alex braced his hands on the sink and really stared at his reflection. It was him, he could tell – just as in the original photo, he could pick out the shape of his nose, the shape of his jaw – but at the same time he was practically unrecognisable. The cosmetics, the hair, the way his open-necked blouse displayed his generous cleavage... No one would be able to tell, of that he was sure. He didn't think he was a knockout, as Gemma had put it, but underneath the disguise he was still male and could tell that the person staring back at him was, at the very least, attractive. Bloody hell, he was attracted to himself; how wrong was that?

"Andrea?" He turned to look at Gemma, who was peering around the bathroom door at him with a concerned expression. "Are you alright?"

"I'm fine, it's just a bit... overwhelming," he murmured.

"Of course it is," she said, moving closer and wrapping her arm around his shoulder comfortingly, "It's bound to be a bit of a shock. For what it's worth, though, you look fantastic."

Alex chuckled softly. "I can see that. You're miracle workers, the lot of you."

"Thank you." She sighed a rubbed his forearm. "I'm afraid they're expecting you upstairs, I think they called it the blunt office. Are you sure you're okay?"

Alex hid a smile. "I'll be fine. Thanks a lot for... well..."

"I understand. Anyway, good luck and I'll see you later." She was just about to leave the room when she paused and smiled at him over her shoulder. "By the way, you should probably remember to use the ladies' bathroom next time."

* * *

Chris gaped at him when he arrived in the reception area outside Blunt's office. "Bloody hell, Andy, you look incredible!"

"Thanks, I guess, although you could have warned me about this!" he exclaimed, grabbing a lock of his hair and twirling it through his fingers, "You made me a redhead!"

"The colour's amber," Monica said quietly. She too looked slightly gobsmacked. "It suits you."

"Thanks," Alex said softly. He gestured towards the door to Blunt's office. "Gemma said they're waiting for me?"

"Yes, go on in. But before you do, take these."

Monica held out a blue velvet box and he took it nervously, carefully opening the lid. Inside was a slender silver watch with a tiny diamond set in the face along with a small, teardrop-shaped diamond pendant held on a slim silver chain.

"Monica!" he gasped, running his thumb reverently over the delicate pieces, "I can't accept these!"

"Of course you can," she said, extracting the watch and fastening it around his left wrist, "Here, lift your hair up."

He gathered his new mane in one hand and held it against the back of his head whilst she fastened the necklace around his neck. Her eyes were slightly wet as she drew back and without hesitation he pulled her into a fierce hug.

"Thanks for everything," he whispered.

"Take care," she whispered back, patting his shoulder affectionately as she pulled away.

Chris reached out and shook Alex's hand warmly. "It's been great to meet you, Andy. I'll see you when you get back."

"You too," Alex said and gave them both a quick wave before turning and letting himself into Blunt's office. Blunt and Jones were once again seated on the same side of the desk, going over what looked like building blueprints. Mrs Jones glanced up and did a comical double take when she saw him.

"Alex?" she gasped incredulously.

"It's Andy, Mrs Jones. Blunt," Alex greeted them, nodding his head at each of them in turn as he took his seat and crossed his ankles. Blunt's eyes widened a tiny fraction – it was possibly the most emotion Alex had ever seen him show.

"I see Monica and Smithers have outdone themselves," he commented.

"Indeed," Mrs Jones added, "You'll be able to fool anyone."

"That you should." Blunt stroked his chin with a finger. "Ben Daniels has worked with you undercover before, yes?"

Alex nodded warily. "Yes, when I went to Bangkok for the ASIS. Why?"

"He's seen how well you can be disguised in the past. Perhaps he can be your first test this time."

"You mean he doesn't know about me? About this?" Alex asked incredulously, gesturing to his curvy body.

"He knows he's playing the father to one of our agents, of course, but informing him of your involvement wasn't necessary. Let's see if you can keep him in the dark, at least until the pair of you get back to his apartment."

"Speak of the devil," Mrs Jones murmured as a sharp rap sounded on the office door. Blunt raised an eyebrow at Alex, silently asking if he would be willing to play along. Alex didn't particularly like the thought of deceiving Ben, who he considered to be a friend as much as a colleague, but he would be coming clean fairly soon and it was probably better for him to start practicing as soon as possible. Ben was an MI6 agent after all; if he couldn't identify Alex it was unlikely anyone else would be able to. He sighed and nodded his assent to Blunt, the other man instantly giving the order to come in.

Ben looked far older than Alex remembered, although perhaps he should have expected that from the photo that had been attached to his brief. Ben's hair was liberally spattered with grey and numerous wrinkles lined his forehead and the corners of his eyes. His eyes, though, were as bright as ever and they widened noticeable when he saw Alex. Alex felt oddly disappointed; even he would struggle to see through his own disguise, yet Ben had pegged him in an instant. However, Ben gave no other sign of recognising Alex; instead, his eyes hardened and his face closed off.

"Ben Daniels," he stated, holding his hand out for Alex to shake.

"Andrea," Alex replied, keeping his grip looser than he normally would as Monica had taught him. Ben gave him a curt nod and took his own seat. Alex was a little bewildered by Ben's cold persona – perhaps he, too, was getting into character. After all, SAS sergeants were supposed to be strict and harsh.

"I trust you're all ready to go, Agent Daniels?" Blunt asked.

"Yes, sir," Ben replied.

"Excellent. Andrea, further instructions regarding your training over the next three weeks have been packed in with your luggage. As Ben will be masquerading as you father, he will drive you to and from your various commitments. You know how to reach us if you have any problems. Questions?"

Ben shook his head. Alex was about to do likewise but was suddenly hit by an awful thought. They obviously were desperate to catch whoever was behind this; just how far would they be willing to make him go? He'd promised Tom the previous evening that he would be as quick as he could, but in none of the documentation he'd been given about the mission did it state the length of time he would be expected to spend undercover; would they expect him to continue the charade through sixth form and into university? That, after all, was the time when the other girls were going missing. The thought filled him with dread.

"What's the anticipated timeframe of the mission?" he enquired, his voice cracking slightly from the worry.

"Only until the Christmas holidays," Mrs Jones quickly reassured him, "If you haven't found anything by then we'll pull you out and try to investigate through different channels. If you're onto something then obviously we'll ask you to continue until the mission is complete, which shouldn't take too much longer."

Alex supposed he could live with that – it meant that he would be back at Brookland in time for the final build-up towards GCSEs. Tom would be happy too.

"Anything else?" Blunt asked. Alex shook his head in the negative. "Very well. Thank you for your time and good luck to the both of you."

He shuffled his papers in clear dismissal and Alex silently followed Ben out of the office. The mission had officially begun.


	4. Confessions

**_Friendly Fire_**

**Disclaimer**: Alex Rider belongs to Anthony Horowitz

**Warnings**: AU following Crocodile Tears, some strong language

**Rating**: T

* * *

**Chapter 4. Confessions... **

The car journey back to Ben's apartment was spent in uncomfortable silence. Alex didn't particularly mind as he was still getting his head around all the changes that had happened to him in the past seven or eight hours. The red hair brushing against his cheeks and neck was a constant reminder, as was the feel of the tights against his smooth legs. His skirt, which had seemed a reasonable length when he had put it on, had ridden up when he got into the car and every minute or so he subconsciously smoothed it down and tugged at the hem, trying to get it to cover more of his exposed legs.

Ben's continued hostility confused Alex as he remembered the other man being cheerful and optimistic even when operating under severe pressure. Ben couldn't be just acting in character – no father would have responded to their child's questions with clipped, dismissive answers like Ben had to Alex's attempts to start a conversation. Alex wondered if something had happened to Ben, a traumatic mission or a lost partner perhaps, in the ten or eleven months since they had last worked together. He hoped not, partly due to the fact that he didn't like to imagine his friend being hurt that terribly but also because it would make his own mission a lot easier if he could relax around the other man.

"We're here," Ben said, jerking Alex out of his thoughts just in time for him to see the world darken as Ben swung the car down a ramp into an underground car park and into the first available space. Alex unfastened his seatbelt and tried to slide out of the car but his pencil skirt prevented him from getting out one leg at a time like he usually did. He smiled dryly to himself, instead swivelling on the leather seat and keeping his legs together as he heaved himself upright. The sound of his heels clacking on the concrete echoed around the enclosed space as he rounded the car to the boot, where Ben was lifting out a large grey suitcase Alex assumed was packed with his new wardrobe. Also in the boot was a long holdall which Alex reached out to grab.

"Careful, that one's..." Ben began, trailing off as Alex swung it almost effortlessly over his shoulder. "Heavy," Ben concluded, eyes widening slightly in disbelief. Alex gave himself a mental kick – apparently he shouldn't have been able to lift that. _Note to self; ask other guys to pick up heavy things and open jars._

They took the lift up to the second floor, Ben letting the pair of them into apartment number seven. The front door opened into a compact, minimalist foyer, the only furniture being a coat stand and a small wooden sideboard onto which Ben casually dropped his keys. He gestured towards a door on the right.

"That's the kitchen. Through here," he said, opening the other door directly in front of them, "Is the living room."

He led Alex into an L-shaped open plan living/dining room comfortably furnished with two worn black leather sofas clustered around a widescreen TV and a pine dining table with matching chairs. Large windows down the right hand wall let in the late afternoon light, bathing the room in a soft glow. The walls were painted a neutral cream colour whilst the carpet was deep red, thick and plush. What struck Alex the most was the lack of personal items; there were no family photos on the windowsills or pictures on the walls. It didn't really feel at all like a home.

Ben quickly dragged Alex's suitcase across the room and opened a door in the far wall. "The bathroom's here on the right; it's the only one so I hope you don't mind sharing. My bedroom's on the right, this one's yours." He twisted the knob on the door to his left, opening it to reveal a decent sized room containing a double bed, a wardrobe, a chest of drawers and an armchair pushed into the corner. "Well, I'll leave you to unpack," Ben said as he left, shutting the door behind him before Alex even had chance to say 'thank you'.

Alex stared at the closed door for a moment, a bit shocked at being so rudely dismissed. If this behaviour continued he could see himself spending a lot of time in this room over the next three weeks. Perhaps Ben simply didn't like the thought of sharing his personal space with anyone. Or maybe, Alex thought suddenly, he did share it with someone else and she'd been forced to leave. What if she didn't know about Ben's job and he'd had to break up with her? That would definitely explain his hostile behaviour towards Alex as well as the lack of personal photos. Alex really hoped that wasn't the case; he would hate to be the reason for Ben being miserable.

He heaved the holdall onto the bed and kicked off his shoes, relishing the feeling of his feet being flat on the floor after so long. He rolled the kinks out of his shoulders and, apprehensively, unzipped the suitcase MI6 had provided him with. He groaned as he stared at the contents – all he could see was lingerie. Silk bras with matching knickers, sheer tights... jeez, how much did he need? He took a steadying breath and started scooping it out by the handful and dumping it into the top drawer, telling himself he'd tackle that later. Underneath that were two nightdresses, one in pink and one in purple, and a cream coloured fleece dressing gown with little hearts on it. He winced a little at the girly colours but it didn't get any better for next he found a multitude of skirts made of a variety of materials and ranging in length from mid thigh to ankle. Conspicuously absent, however, were trousers of any sort. He sighed as he transferred everything he'd pulled out so far onto hangers and stowed it in the wardrobe – he knew that he was less likely to slip back into guy behaviour in a skirt than he would be in jeans, but he would still have appreciated a pair or two to lounge about in at the weekend. Next came a swimming costume that would leave absolutely nothing to the imagination and he quickly shut the suitcase and zipped it back up, unable to face any more today. He'd been through enough already, he thought. He was exhausted and looking forward to a good night's sleep; the rest of the unpacking could wait until tomorrow.

However much he wanted to sink into bed, though, he knew he couldn't before he'd smoothed things out and come clean to Ben. He'd obviously passed Blunt's test by now so there was no reason to keep Ben in the dark any longer. Alex yawned and ran a hand through his hair (the motion taking far longer than it usually did) before heading back into the living room. Ben was sat on the far sofa staring blankly at the TV, a tumbler of what looked like whiskey clutched in one hand. The image made Alex feel terrible and he took the other sofa, mentally debating the best way of telling Ben the truth. Rather than mentioning the absent girlfriend outright he decided it would probably be better to play ignorant and he cleared his throat to attract Ben's attention.

"What?" Ben snapped gruffly, knocking back the remaining whiskey.

Alex reared back from the vehemence in Ben's tone. "Have I done something to offend you?" he asked softly.

Ben's eyes widened marginally before he groaned and ground his fists against his eyes. "No, you haven't. I'm sorry if it came across that way. I just don't approve... "

Alex felt suddenly indignant and defensive of his new gender. "You don't approve of me? Why? Because I'm female?"

"_What_? Of course not!" Ben yelped, "It's your _age_! I don't approve of our employers using fifteen year old kids!"

Alex felt incredibly stupid. "Oh."

Ben sighed and rubbed a hand over his face. "This might be a surprise to you but you're not the first teenager they've used. I've worked with the other and, whilst I'll admit that he's damn good at what he does, I don't agree with him doing it in the first place. This isn't a world for children and, to me, that's what the pair of you are. Children. Mr Blunt and Mrs Jones know how I feel yet they still insist on using him and now they've found you. That's what I don't approve of."

Alex hadn't known Ben felt so strongly about his involvement with MI6 – the notion was surprisingly touching. He supposed he should put Ben out of his misery and confess. "There's still only one teenager working for MI6, Ben," he said quietly.

Ben cocked his head, looking confused, before he breathed a sigh of relief and chuckled. It wasn't the reaction Alex had been expecting.

"Well, now I feel stupid," Ben laughed, "If they can make me look so much older I shouldn't be so surprised that they can make someone look younger, should I? So how old are you then? If you don't mind me asking, that is."

Alex took a deep, nervous breath. "Fifteen."

"What? But you just said..."

He broke off and Alex could see the realisation dawning in his eyes, even as he started shaking his head in disbelief. Alex decided to help him along and cracked a dry smile.

"Hi, Ben," he said in his own voice.

"Bloody hell!" Ben swore loudly, the empty glass tumbling to the floor as he shot off the sofa and gripped Alex's arms, yanking him to his feet and staring disbelievingly at him. "_Alex_?"

"It's Andy this time, Ben," Alex said, switching back into Andrea's voice.

Ben gaped like a fish, eyes wide and unblinking as he swept them over Alex's body. Alex shifted uncomfortably, particularly when Ben's gaze hesitated on his chest for a few moments longer than necessary. After what seemed like an eternity Ben finally released Alex's arms and took a step back, hand over his mouth as he incredulously shook his head again.

"I'm going to need another drink," he murmured.

* * *

Half an hour later, Ben was nursing his third glass of whiskey as Alex finished his explanation of the past week. He fell silent, picking at his nails nervously as he waited for the older man's reaction. Ben tossed back the rest of his drinking, placing the tumbler on the floor next to the sofa.

"That's pretty overwhelming, Alex, I mean, Andy," he said, "So just to confirm, all of this can be undone, right?"

"Easily – cut the hair, take the makeup off and unstuck the falsies and I'll be back to my old self," Alex said drolly, "I did check before they started."

Ben smiled at the response but then his brow drew down, his face becoming serious. "There's one thing I have to know, Al... Andy, and I want an honest answer. Did you agree to this?"

Alex frowned. "I told you, I took the mission voluntarily..."

"I don't mean agreeing to take the mission," Ben interrupted, "I meant, well, all of this. Did you honestly agree to them doing all of this to you?"

"When I realised it was necessary, yes," Alex replied firmly, "Trust me, I initially turned it down when I found out what they wanted me to do, but when I realised what was at stake for all those involved... well, wearing a skirt isn't so bad, I guess."

"You're far braver than me, then," Ben said, shuddering, "Teenage girls terrify me."

Alex grinned. "Me too, most of the time."

Ben smiled sheepishly back before checking his watch. "I don't know about you but I'm starving. Do you fancy a pizza? Any preferences?

As it had done at lunch Alex's stomach rumbled at the mention of food. "Sounds good to me. I'm not too fussy, just order one that's not too expensive."

Ben raised an eyebrow. "Not too expensive? We're on a mission now; MI6 will be picking up the cost."

Alex smirked cheekily. "In that case, shove as much meat on as is physically possible."

Alex went to the bathroom whilst Ben ordered and returned just in time to hear him give the address for delivery. Alex paused when he heard the name. Coleherne Road. He shook his head, marvelling at the coincidence that Ben lived only five minutes away from him and Jack. Straight on the back of that realisation came an awful thought. He bit his lip as he re-entered the living room just as Ben was hanging up. Ben looked up at him.

"Everything alright?"

"Fine. By the way, do you know which school it is I'm going to for the next fortnight? Neither Blunt nor Mrs Jones mentioned it."

Ben frowned in concentration. "I should know this; I was looking up the directions earlier. Brookbank or Brookside, something like that. The local comprehensive."

A lead ball materialised in Alex's stomach. "Brookland," he stated.

Ben snapped his fingers. "That's the one. Do you know it?"

Alex grimaced. "Intimately."

* * *

Alex fiddled with the buttons on his blazer nervously as Ben hummed tunelessly along to the radio. He should have predicted something like this, he thought. In Blunt's mind this would be the perfect place for him to learn to blend in – after all, he'd try harder here than anywhere else purely due to the fear of being recognised. He'd never be able to show his face in the school again if someone realised who Andrea Daniels really was.

He'd roped Ben into helping him unpack on Sunday. Having had time to get used to the admittedly bizarre circumstances Ben had been in a far better mood, laughing uproariously when Alex told him about the absent girlfriend theory. He'd patted Alex on the back, joking that his job didn't leave much time for searching for that special someone. He'd also been highly amused by the expressions on Alex's face as he withdrew dress after skirt after blouse from the suitcase. Both of them, however, had turned faintly green when Alex came across a box of Tampax and instructions to be moody once a month to avoid suspicion from any female peers or teachers.

Other than that one incident, his first day spent as Andrea was remarkably uneventful. It was the little things that he would never have considered beforehand that seemed to pop up and surprise him, like the fact that he had had a really poor night's sleep on Saturday due to the fact that, for obvious reasons, he had been unable to sleep on his front like he usually preferred. His new hair fell over his shoulders when he was brushing his teeth and got matted with toothpaste, and he had to take extra care going through doorways as he'd already hit his wider hips on them four times. All in all, though, it hadn't been half as bad as he'd feared; he hadn't died from embarrassment and Ben had kept the good-natured ribbing to a minimum.

This morning, however, was a completely different story. His stomach was full of butterflies and twice he was overcome with a nausea so strong he almost asked Ben to pull over. He didn't know what was wrong with him; he'd faced almost certain death and torture on multiple occasions yet he'd never been as scared as he was right now. Sure, his disguise was incredibly thorough and Ben hadn't recognised him, but he was about to head back to his own school where there were at least a dozen people who had known him since he was three years old. If anyone was going to recognise him it would be one of them – the prospect made him feel physically sick.

"Andy? Andy!"

He shook his head to clear it, vaguely registering that Ben was repeating his cover name over and over. He looked out of the window and realised that they'd parked up almost right outside the school gates. Even in that brief moment a girl he shared his Physics class with walked right past the car and he shrank back, ducking his head and untucking the hair from behind his ear so it fell to shield his face. Ben placed a hand on his shoulder, squeezing it softly.

"Andy? Are you sure you're able to do this?"

Alex glanced sideways to see Ben looking worriedly at him. He tried to answer but his mouth had completely dried up and he just croaked awkwardly. Ben looked stricken and leaned across the gear stick to pull a surprised Alex into a rough hug.

"You really don't have to do this," Ben murmured, "Blunt's an asshole, asking you to come back here. You can just stay at mine until it's time for me to take you to St Helena's."

Alex licked his lips to wet them, still unused to the taste of the tinted balm Monica had insisted was more appropriate for school and everyday wear than gloss or lipstick. "I really do need the practice, though," he said softly, "I'll be fine."

Ben pulled back, his face still troubled. "Well, I put my number into your new mobile. Just give me a ring if it gets too much and I can come and pick you up."

Alex nodded in appreciation and, taking a deep breath, opened his car door and swivelled round to step out. Brookland looked the same as it had always done; squashed onto a small campus the school had grown upwards rather than outwards and was now a mish-mash of buildings of different heights and made of different materials. The familiar sight was comforting after the manic weekend he'd had. If only he felt as comfortable in the girl's uniform he was wearing; his new school shoes (lower and more comfortable than his training heels, just as Monica had promised) were teamed with a knee-length pleated skirt, a white blouse that seemed a few sizes too small and stretched obscenely over his chest, a neatly-knotted school tie and a fitted blazer emblazoned with the school crest. Although it was not too different from the male version that hung in his wardrobe back at the house he shared with Jack, the small changes really drove home his new position. He'd often shot an appreciative glance at some of the girls in his year along with his friends; now, the tables were turned and he himself was fair game.

Ben joined him on the pavement and squeezed his shoulder in reassurance. Alex forced himself to smile at his 'dad'; they were out in the open now, so he couldn't afford to slip out of character. He nodded, silently letting the older man know he was okay, and the pair passed through the school gates and headed towards the main building. Alex's heart was pounding frantically and he kept his eyes downcast, letting Ben guide him in the right direction. As per usual the rec was packed with people and awash with noise; the majority of the conversations he picked up on were lamenting Chelsea's performance against Liverpool at the weekend. Had it really been only a week since he, James and Tom had been discussing that match before MI6 showed up again? It seemed like a lifetime ago. One sound, a piercing wolf-whistle, cut into his thoughts and he automatically looked up to see which girl was being ogled this time. He froze stock still when he realised that the culprits, a group of guys in his year he vaguely recognised from P. E., were staring straight at him, and not in recognition. Holy shit, were they whistling at _him_?

He quickly returned his eyes to the ground and hurried to catch up with Ben, mentally disgusted at the sniggers he could hear the other boys making. His hands started to shake and he quickly reached up to fiddle with his pendant. Whilst he knew they were far too expensive to wear on a daily basis, he had put on both the diamond necklace and watch as a reminder that Monica, at least, had confidence in him and believed he could do this. If the first few minutes were anything to go by he would need all the positivity he could get if he wanted to survive this school day.

They entered the main building and Ben slowed down, letting Alex lead the way to the main office. The reception desk was manned by Miss Bedfordshire, who looked up at the pair of them when Ben entered the office without knocking. She quickly stood up, holding her hand out for them to shake.

"Good morning. Sergeant Daniels, good to see you again. And you must be Andrea," she said, taking Alex's hand warmly, "I'm very sorry about your mother. I know you won't be here long, but I do hope you'll be happy whilst you are."

Alex gave her what he hoped was a part sad, part shy smile. "Thanks, Miss Bedfordshire."

He realised his mistake too late – she frowned slightly and Ben gave a barely audible wince. _Another note to self; don't greet anyone by name until they've introduced themselves_. He cast his mind about frantically, eventually deciding to hedge his bets and hope for the best.

"I saw some of the correspondence you had with dad. Thanks for being able to accommodate my GCSE choices," he said, mentally crossing his fingers that the pair had actually exchanged letters or emails.

She smiled at him and he sighed in relief. "It's not a problem. We're a much larger school than your old one so it was easy to slot you into the right classes. If you have any problems just come and find me and I'll work something else out."

Alex nodded in thanks and Miss Bedfordshire turned to the desk, extracting several forms for Ben to look through and sign. Alex shifted nervously from one foot to the other. That had been too close – he _had_ to be more careful in the future. A knock at the door had all three of them turning and a girl Alex knew poked her head round. He felt his stomach sink in realisation of what it meant as Miss Bedfordshire beckoned her in.

"Andrea, this is Tracey. She's going to be your guide as she's in most of your classes..."

She carried on speaking but Alex stopped listening, instead closing his eyes momentarily as he thought about how much the universe hated him. Of course it would work out this way; first Andrea was enrolled in Alex's own school, and then she was placed in his own form. He really shouldn't have expected anything else, should he? He felt Ben jab him in the back and snapped back to attention, realising he'd zoned out completely again.

"Andrea? Are you ready to get going?" Tracey asked him.

Alex sighed in resignation and nodded, turning to say goodbye to Ben. Rather than echo the sentiment, Ben unexpectedly pulled Alex into a tight hug and dropped a gentle kiss onto his forehead.

"Have a good day, sweetheart," he murmured, too softly for either of the other two to hear, "And please don't beat up any boys. I'm the dad; that's my job."

Alex laughed in spite of himself as he pulled away and hefted his satchel higher up onto his shoulder. "Sure thing. Have a good day, dad."

Ben smiled and turned back to the paperwork, leaving Alex to follow Tracey out of the office and down the corridor. She immediately started speaking but Alex tuned her out; she was well-liked and popular amongst the others in their year but she was the epitome of a ditzy blonde and nothing that came out of her mouth made much sense. James, who fancied the pants off her, boasted that she could talk for England. Tom, who didn't, described it as verbal diarrhoea.

The tempo of his pounding heart sped up as they walked down the corridor, passing a few stragglers who were sheepishly slipping into their form rooms. The sound of Alex's low heels echoed in the almost deserted hallway. It felt so wrong, being in the school like this, as Andrea. He'd always done his level best to keep his work and private lives separate but now they were colliding in the most intimate way possible. He'd have to stay away from his friends, he thought. It would be too easy to slip up and say something he shouldn't if Andrea fell straight into the hole left by Alex. He sighed, mentally preparing himself for what would probably be one of the hardest fortnights of his life.

"...Totally fit, don't you think so?" Tracey was saying to him. He looked at her blankly, having no idea what she was talking about. Then again, he was probably better off not knowing.

"Totally," he agreed absently, then sighed in relief as she carried on talking practically to herself. By the time they reached their form room his ears hurt from her high pitched chattering and, despite the terror he felt, it was somewhat of a relief to enter the familiar environment. A quick glance round the room revealed that everything was carrying on as normal; Lee was flirting shamelessly with Karen, Nick and Darren were playing Blackjack, half a dozen girls were primping in front of compact mirrors and the rest of the class were trying to throw balled-up paper into the bin, all whilst Mrs Brown was trying in vain to take the register. Alex allowed himself a small smile, relieved that none of the usual routines had changed. He had, after all, done enough changing for everyone.

Mrs Brown looked up at the door opening and beckoned him in, shooting him a harried smile. "Andrea, right?" she asked. She made a quick note on the register at Alex's nod. "Come in, come in. I'm Mrs Brown, your form tutor. How are you finding London?"

"Fine, thanks," Alex murmured as he moved to stand next to her desk. Tracey went to sit with the rest of the primpers, the noise level in the room increasing even further as they started discussing him. Mrs Brown stood up and raised her arms, trying unsuccessfully to get the rest of the class to quieten.

"Okay, everyone, listen up. We have a new student with us today. This is Andrea; I hope you will all make her feel welcome."

Two dozen pairs of eyes instantly fell on Alex and he stared at his feet as his cheeks heated. He hated this, the staring. He was used to it – he got the stare and the accompanying whispers whenever he returned following a mission (or a stint in rehab, as the majority of his classmates believed) – but that didn't make it any easier to take. At least this time there were no snide comments or disgusted looks. Mrs Brown picked up the register and squinted at it.

"Well, we're pretty full in here but... Alex is absent. Again. Tom? Do you know where Alex is?"

Alex had to force himself not to snap his head up to look at his best friend. Instead, he raised it slowly and had to hold back a gasp at how terrible Tom looked. Deep shadows underlined his eyes and he was slumped dejectedly over the two-person desk he usually shared with Alex, head propped in one hand whilst he doodled on a spare piece of paper with the other. He looked thoroughly miserable and Alex felt a pang of distress. He'd known, of course, that Tom and Jack worried about him when he was away but he'd never had to actually witness it. It was painful to see Tom, usually so happy-go-lucky and cheerful, look like that and Alex strengthened his resolve to never take on a mission again.

Mrs Brown had to call Tom's name twice more before he finally snapped out of his daze and looked up with tired eyes. "Yes, Miss?"

"I _said_," Mrs Brown repeated in exasperation, "Do you know where Alex is today?"

Tom's shoulders slumped and he shook his head in the negative. Mrs Brown sighed and pointed the desk out to Alex. "Why don't you take that one for now, Andrea, and if Alex comes back we can sort something else out."

_If, not when_, Alex thought as he weaved between the desks towards his usual one near the back. Did they really expect him to just disappear one day and not come back? Even as the thought crossed his mind he heard Nick mumble something about juvie at the same time as Charlene mentioned drugs. Hell, they really did think the worst of him, didn't they?

He took a deep steadying breath as he slipped into his usual seat and turned to his (well, Alex's not Andrea's) best friend. Tom had already gone back to sketching on his paper, and he looked so forlorn that Alex didn't have the heart to just sit there and do nothing. He waved his hand in front of Tom's face to get his attention.

"Hi, I'm Andy," he said, not bothering to try and whisper given that the rest of the room had descended once again into its usual chaos. Tom paused slightly in this scribbling but otherwise gave no indication of having heard Alex. Alex, a little put out and surprised by his friend's rudeness, tried again. "I said..."

"I heard you the first time," Tom snapped, "But in case you didn't pick it up, my friend's not here and I've no idea where he is, so I'm a little worried. I can live without you nattering away in my ear, thank you very much."

Alex pulled back, shocked by the vehemence in Tom's tone; he'd never head his friend speak like that, not even about his arguing parents. "I was only trying to be polite!" he defended himself, then added, "Maybe you're friend's just skiving a day."

"Alex doesn't skive," Tom growled, "And you don't know anything about the situation at all, so shut up and leave me alone."

Alex shook his head incredulously. "There's no need to snap! Hell, is it your time of the month or something?" he spat. Tom gave him a disbelieving look and Alex mentally winced as he realised that that phrase (one he and Tom used regularly when the other was in a bad mood) was one he should probably label as inappropriate and avoid from now on – if Jack's periodically foul mood was anything to go by it wasn't something girls were likely to joke about. Tom gave him a final glare before very deliberately turning his chair away and dropping his head onto his arms. Alex, disgusted and hurt by his friend's behaviour, turned in the opposite direction only to see Josh staring at him in a way that suggested the other boy was undressing him with his eyes. Josh, seeing that Alex had caught him, winked lasciviously. Alex flushed scarlet and folded his arms on the desk, dropping his head on top of them. It was going to be a long day.

* * *

"You survived!" Ben exclaimed when Alex let himself into the car at the end of the school day. Alex groaned and thumped his head against the headrest in reply. Ben winced as he started the engine and pulled away from the kerb. "That bad, huh?"

"You have no idea," Alex moaned, "Apparently all the guys in there have a thing for redheads. I was asked out twenty three times! Twenty three! One of those was by a year eight!"

Ben looked across worriedly. "You didn't hurt any of them, did you?"

Alex shrugged. "Greg Miller thought it would be funny to pretend to stumble against my chest so he could cop a feel. He wasn't so happy later when he _accidentally_ tripped into the lockers and broke his nose." Ben snorted next to him. Alex thumped him on the arm before running his hands over his own face, cursing when he realised he'd probably smudged his makeup. "Seriously, I think there were only two guys who weren't interested, and one of them is openly gay."

Ben continued to chuckle. "And the other?"

Alex sighed wearily. "Tom – my best friend. He hates me; well, he hates Andrea anyway. I don't want to talk about it. Everyone else backed off when I told them I'm only here for two weeks."

Ben just nodded in acceptance. "Well, I'm presuming nobody recognised you so at least we know your disguise is solid."

Alex scrunched his eyes shut. "It's too good," he moaned. At Ben's confused look he thumped the dashboard and ran his hands through his hair in distress. "It's P. E. tomorrow."

Ben frowned in confusion. "And why's that so terrible? I thought you'd be good at sports."

"I am," Alex stated, "But I'll give you one guess as to which changing room I'll have to use, and here's a hint – it's not the men's."

Ben guffawed. "And that's a problem why, exactly? I'd have given anything to get a sneak peek into the girls' changing room when I was your age!"

"The problem," Alex hissed, "Is that despite appearances I am a guy! There are some really good-looking girls in my class; how am I supposed to stop myself from, you know, staring?" He clenched his fists, frustrated by Ben's flippancy. This was a major problem; he was a fifteen year old guy, for heaven's sake! Tomorrow he would be in a room with three or four dozen semi-naked girls – of course he was going to take notice! Shit, what if he couldn't control himself and his body reacted to the unintentional strip shows on offer? Could he even get aroused with these false hips on?

A hand squeezed his shoulder gently and he looked up. They were stopped at a red light and Ben was looking at him in concern. "I'm sorry for teasing you," he said, "I can't imagine how hard this is for you, and I thought being upbeat would keep your spirits up. Sorry if I got it wrong.

"As for the changing rooms..." he broke off as the driver in the car behind them honked the horn aggressively, the traffic lights having turned greened. Ben flipped the impatient driver the finger as he put the car in gear and pulled forwards. "As I was saying, the safest thing you can probably do is find a corner and get changed there. Remember that you're supposed to have been taught at home during primary school years so you can just tell the others you're shy and don't feel comfortable getting changed around people you don't know. If they press just tell them your mum's just died and you want some time to yourself – I imagine that will get them to back off pretty quickly."

Alex sighed and nodded. "Thanks for the advice."

"Anytime."

Alex picked at a fingernail absently before pausing and frowning out of the window. "Where are we going? I don't recognise this street."

"You've got your private fencing lesson at a sports centre in Ealing," Ben replied, "I know it's a bit of a trek but the higher-ups didn't want to arrange lessons in Chelsea in case any of your classmates saw you as a beginner when in fact you're supposed to have been doing this for several years. Your gear's in the boot."

"Oh. Have you met my instructor?"

Ben shook his head. "No, but Mrs Jones assured me she's lovely."

* * *

Ms Eberhardt was as far from lovely as you could get, Alex thought. She stood at least six feet tall and had the disposition of a rabid rottweiler. Needless to say, Ben escaped as soon as the introductions had been made and left Alex completely at her mercy.

"Right," she said in heavily-accented, clipped English, "I have three weeks only to teach you to fence. You only need to know to use epée, yes?" Alex nodded in confirmation. "Very good. You have your equipment? Then get dressed and we start."

Getting dressed proved trickier than Alex had expected. There were socks that came up to his thighs, trousers that only reached his knees, a padded white jacket with a strap at the bottom, what appeared to be half a T-shirt and a bra apparently made out of plastic. He held it up incredulously. "Are you serious?"

She frowned at him. "You have obviously never taken a hit there if you make such jokes. Put it on."

He eventually managed to get everything in the right place – the half T-shirt covered his sword arm and tied around his middle before being completely covered by the white jacket, the strap of which went between his legs. By the time he fastened his glove on and slipped the surprisingly heavy mask over his head he could already feel the sweat building up and they hadn't even started yet. He'd always thought fencing looked easy – just moving backwards and forwards a bit and trying to hit the other person – but he was already revising that opinion. Ms Eberhardt nodded approvingly.

"Very good. Now, we stand like this." She put her feet at ninety degrees, the right pointing forward and the left pointing sideways, and bent her knees. Alex copied her, feeling the burn in his thighs almost immediately. "This is how we move. Step forward right, follow with left. Keep the same angle and distance. Back with left first, then right. Stay on your toes to keep speed up. Very good. Now, take your weapon."

Alex dutifully extracted his blade from its case, frowning when he saw Ms Eberhardt do the same. "Yours is different," he stated, indicating the handle.

She looked over at his and shrugged dismissively. "Mine is a French grip, which is more manoeuvrable. Yours is a pistol grip – hold it like so – which is more powerful and gives better control of the blade." She frowned as she hefted his sword in her hand before handing it back to him. "Strange, this seems very heavy. Where did you buy from?"

"Same place I got everything else," Alex said evasively as he pointed at the logo on his jacket, hoping that whatever company made the clothing also made the blades. He heaved a sigh of relief as she nodded in acceptance and took up her weapon. He wrapped his hand around his own grip, which fitted comfortably now he knew how to use it properly, and gave it an experimental swing. He yelped as Ms Eberhardt poked him sharply in the stomach with the tip of her blade.

"No! Never raise your sword point around unmasked people; you could take out an eye! And blade hits are in sabre only – in epée we use tip hits." Alex nodded in understanding, but she was still scowling as she slipped on her own mask. "Okay. First, you must learn blade positions. En garde is here." She raised her bent sword arm until the forearm was parallel to the floor then twisted her wrist so the blade was angled slightly upwards and pointing in Alex's direction. He obediently copied the position. "Good. Now, this is quarte, sixte, septime, octave, prime and seconde." Each word was accompanied by a change of position which Alex imitated as best he could. "Good. Again."

Alex's lesson progressed at a rapid rate. They moved straight from blade positions to offensive actions to defensive actions, and in seemingly no time at all they had moved to the piste for their first bout. Needless to say, Alex lost that, as he did the dozen or so that followed it. Each time Ms Eberhardt would explain, with a demonstration, what he'd done wrong and how he could have protected himself against her attack. Still, it was one thing to practice the moves in slow motion and another entirely to implement it at the breakneck pace Ms Eberhardt fenced at in their bouts. By the time she called a halt, Alex was just about ready to collapse. His thighs and calves were on fire and he wouldn't be surprised if his entire body was black and blue from the powerful hits she'd delivered.

"You learn fast," she commented, and Alex had the feeling that it was as close to a compliment as he was going to get out of her. "Practice your stance and wrist movements at home. I will see you tomorrow."

He managed to gasp out a goodbye between sucking in great lungfuls of air, and by the time he'd pulled his mask off she'd already left. He took a deep swig from his water bottle and rummaged in his bag for a towel, desperate for a shower even if it meant braving the women's changing room. He groaned in frustration when he came up blank, cursing Ben under his breath. How could he have forgotten to pack a towel? Alex sighed and slotted his epée – no longer pristinely shiny and new-looking – into its case and slung both bags over his shoulder.

He found Ben in the café, sipping coffee from a polystyrene cup as he studied the crossword in his daily newspaper.

"Well?" he asked.

"Lovely my arse."

* * *

Alex slept extremely well that night – unsurprising, really, given that by the time they'd driven home and he'd had a shower, eaten and done his homework it was almost one in the morning. Alex, though, put his night of solid rest down to the fact that, for the first time since he'd accepted the mission the previous week, he didn't have the fear of the unknown preying on his mind and eating away at his confidence and composure. Yes, he was still nervous about facing the dreaded girls' changing room, but now that he had a successful day under his belt and he knew he could face up to the scrutiny that would be thrown at him, the thought of going to school as Andrea didn't terrify him as it had done before. Even Ben noticed the change at breakfast; he didn't say anything, probably for fear of saying the wrong something and bringing back Alex's nerves, but Alex could see it in the relaxed slump of Ben's shoulders and the way the smile he gave Alex reached his eyes and not just his mouth.

They made good time that morning and Ben dropped Alex off at the school gates twenty minutes before he had to make his way to his form room. He cast a longing glance at a couple of other year elevens having a kick about on the opposite side of the rec; as Alex he would have headed over and joined in, but Andy definitely wouldn't be welcome other than as a bit of eye-candy. He sighed in disappointment and headed over to the benches, sitting down and pulling Shakespeare's The Taming of the Shrew out of his satchel. He'd had a brainwave the previous day and told his English teacher that he'd already written the Shakespeare coursework essay on Macbeth at his old school, thereby getting himself out of doing any English work other than reading Brookland's chosen text for the next two weeks. After all, it wasn't as if any marks he got as Andrea Daniels would count towards Alex Rider's GCSEs, and he was sure that MI6 would be able to pull the required strings to make sure his grades didn't suffer as a result of the mission.

A row kicking off almost right in front of him ten minutes later had him looking up in curiosity, and his heart sank as he realised that Tom was surrounded by other members of their year group.

"Rider wasn't in yesterday, has he gone back to rehab?" John Draper was chortling.

"Alex isn't a druggie," Alex heard Tom mutter.

"Must be juvie this time, then!" Lee from his form crowed.

"Alex isn't a criminal! He just gets sick a lot," Tom spat. Alex was on the verge of rising to his feet and going to help his friend but knew that it wasn't an action Andy would be able to justify, so he bit his lip and stayed painfully put.

"Know what I think?" John sneered, "I think you're defending him because you're just as much of a druggie as he is. I bet he can get you all the best shit, can't he?"

"Yeah, I bet you're right!" Lee added, "Remember how much Rider hated Skoda? I bet they were rivals on the drugs circuit."

"That's bloody ridiculous!" Tom growled, "I've never touched drugs and neither has Alex! He wouldn't, would he, James?"

Alex cocked his head, startled. He hadn't noticed James' presence, but sure enough he could make out his friend's face as Lee shifted to one side. James' face was troubled and he glanced quickly from Tom to the others before sighing. Alex dug his nails into his palms, knowing what James was going to say before the words left his mouth.

"We don't know that, Tom," he said, "No one gets ill that often and for such long periods of time. There's something else going on, and he won't tell anyone what it is. It is suspicious – what else could it be other than drugs or gang involvement or something?"

Alex winced, angry and hurt. James was supposed to be one of his best friends, and whilst Alex knew his excuses were shoddy, he'd hoped the other boy would accept them and know that Alex would never touch drugs in a million years. The knowledge that James, just like everyone else, thought badly of him was like a blow to the stomach. He felt even worse for Tom, who shot James a betrayed look and stormed off towards the school building. He hadn't realised just how much Tom must have stood up for him in his absences over the last two years, and his disgust at James was muted by the happiness he felt to have a friend like Tom. He made a mental note to buy Tom a big box of chocolates as a thank you present when the mission was over.

As Alex would have expected after the confrontation, Tom was in a foul mood at form period that morning and Alex was almost relieved when the bell rang, even though it signalled the start of P. E. He dutifully headed towards the changing rooms and, after casting a wistful glance at the men's door, he pushed open the other. Fortunately he was one of the first to arrive and he quickly claimed a corner bench, managing to get his tie, blouse and bra off and his sports bra and gym T-shirt on before the room filled up. Five minutes later he'd swapped his skirt and tights for a gym skirt and socks and, pulling his hair up into a high ponytail, he headed out to the sports pitch.

By the time the lesson was over he'd acquired a new respect for female athletes. Even with his sports bra on his chest bounced about uncomfortably and his shoulders and back were sore from the relentless tugging. Perhaps that was why, he mused later as he took a long, hot soak in the bath after his second fencing lesson (even more brutal than the first – Ms Eberhardt was going to kill him if she kept this up) he'd never seen anyone with a chest half the size of his competing professionally. What about when he started swimming, which he'd have to do for his pentathlon training? He wouldn't be able to move at all for the drag! He sighed, voicing his concerns to Ben as they sat watching TV before turning in for the night. Ben, as always, was highly sympathetic to Alex's plight.

"Bummer. But on the bright side, you have built in buoyancy aids – at least you won't sink."

Alex hit him with a cushion and stalked out of the room, but he was smiling as he turned his lamp off and drifted off to sleep.

* * *

Wednesday passed without incident and, with the exception of P. E., Thursday was pretty unremarkable as well. As such, Friday dawned with Alex feeling exceptionally cheerful at having survived his first week in disguise. He was fairly proud of what he'd managed to achieve in such a short space of time; heels were no longer any problem at all, he'd halved the time it took him to put on his makeup, his voice hadn't slipped once and he'd actually taken six points off Ms Eberhardt the previous evening. Yes, he realised they were rather odd accomplishments for a fifteen year old boy to be pleased about, but he no longer had any doubts that he would be able to maintain the charade for as long as the mission required him to. So, as he took his seat in his form room on Friday morning, it was not embarrassment or terror that had him sighing in worry – it was Tom.

Alex had never realised just how badly Tom was bullied in his absences. Tom had never alluded to any of it, only saying that there were always a lot of rumours flying about. He had never once implied that he was personally singled out for abuse in Alex's absence, abuse that was mostly verbal but, at times, bordered on physical violence. What made Alex feel even worse was that Tom was obviously thoroughly miserable. Even James had deserted him, and it was apparent that, without Alex, Tom was completely and utterly alone at Brookland. His loneliness and unhappiness meant that he often snapped at the smallest thing, and all the attempts Alex had made to engage his friend in conversation over the past week had ended in him being verbally abused and rudely dismissed. A small part of Alex died every time his best friend spoke to him like that.

He headed out to the rec at afternoon break, desperate for a breath of fresh air after a gruelling double maths lesson. His head hurt from the complex equations and functions they had been dealing with and he groaned, desperate for the day to just hurry up and end so he could head home for the weekend. Suddenly and without warning someone ploughed into his back and sent him sprawling on the concrete, the palms of his hands scraping on the rough surface. He yelped in surprise as he pushed himself into a sitting position to inspect the damage, only to pause when he realised Tom was glaring down at him.

"Watch where you're fucking going," Tom growled.

Alex snapped. Sick and tired of being treated like the dirt on the underside of Tom's shoe, he shot to his feet and grabbed Tom's bicep. Ignoring both the sting from his hands and Tom's protesting curses, he hauled his friend to their usual hangout spot behind the bike shed and pushed him up against the wall. Blood boiling and pounding in his ears, he was barely aware of what he was doing as he snarled at Tom and gripped him firmly with both hands to keep him in place.

"I've had it up to here with you!" Alex growled, only to recoil when Tom actually spat at him.

"Let me go, you crazy bitch!" Tom hissed.

"Shut up," Alex said, his voice low and menacing, "I know you're worried about Alex but that's no reason to treat everyone else like shit! He's fine, so get your head out of your arse and start acting normally!"

"He's fine?" Tom echoed, "How the hell do you know?" Alex's eyes widened in shocked realisation of what he'd just admitted, even as Tom's jaw dropped and he grabbed Alex's arms. "You know him, don't you? Are you with MI6 too? What the hell are you doing here?"

Alex let go of Tom and mashed his aching hands against his temples. Shit, how the hell was he supposed to talk his way out of this one? Blunt and Mrs Jones would have fits if they knew how close he was to blowing his secret and jeopardising the mission, and time seemed to stand still as he tried to think of a passable cover-up story. All those thoughts, however, instantly vanished from his head when he glanced up and saw the look in Tom's eyes. There, mixed in with the desperation and the sadness, was hope, and Alex sighed as he realised that he would not be able to lie to Tom, not when the other boy had shown such loyalty to him. He screwed his eyes shut briefly, hoping he wasn't about to make a massive mistake, and spoke.

"Yes, I do know Alex, and yes, I am with MI6, but you need to be more careful. If I hadn't been you would have just blurted out Alex's secret to a random person. I can't tell you anything unless you promise you won't breathe a word to anyone."

Tom nodded his head guiltily. "I'm sorry, I understand. I won't tell anyone anything, I swear. Please, just tell me he's alright? Do you know where he is?"

"Yes, he's fine. As for where he is..." Alex took a deep breath. "He's testing out a new disguise before he goes undercover in the school he told you about."

Incredibly, Tom still didn't get it. "A disguise? What does he need one of those for – he's a teenager going to a school! What's wrong with that?"

"Going undercover was necessary for this mission." Alex sighed and dropped his voice, speaking in his normal pitch for the first time in nearly a week. "Deep undercover."

Tom gaped at him. "_Alex_?" he yelled.

Alex rolled his eyes and slapped a hand over Tom's mouth. "You remember discretion? We talked about it last week," he said, switching back to Andy's voice, "The whole point of an undercover disguise is that no one knows who I am! Shouting my secret to the world kind of defeats the point of the whole exercise!"

Tom nodded, still staring unabashedly at Alex. "Sorry, but... Holy fuck, Alex?" he whispered, "What the hell have they done to you? You've got fucking tits!"

Alex winced at Tom's crude language. "Fake, all of it. This, these, these," he said, pointing to his hair, chest and hips in turn, "Are all fake. The hair's glued in, and the rest of it's just extra padding. I'm still me under here."

"But you've got tits!" Tom repeated as he pointed to them, his hand shaking, "Huge ones!"

"I hadn't noticed," Alex said dryly. Honestly, did Tom think he wasn't aware of the changes that had been made to his own body? "It's all fake. See?" He grabbed Tom's wrists and pulled the other boy's hands forward so that they were resting on his hips. "Fake." Alex moved Tom's hands higher so that they were cupping his ample chest. Tom made a choking sound as he stared at the mounds under his hands. "I can't feel that at all. They're just stuck on. Completely..."

"Mr Harris! Miss Daniels! What in God's name do you think you're doing?"

Their heads snapped up simultaneously in time to see Mr Bray, the headteacher, storming towards them with a face like thunder. Tom whimpered softly and Alex paled as he realised what this must look like. The pair of them were alone together behind the bike shed and Tom's hands, held in place by Alex's own, were spread firmly against Alex's false breasts.

Well, that could have gone better.

* * *

AN: Please check my author's profile for more details on this story


End file.
